West … there’s a mighty movement afoot, son. Greatest movement since the Children of Israel fled from bondage in the land of Egypt. The world has never seen the like, folks from all the lands of creation, streamin’ west, flowin’ like a great tide, some of them walkin’, some drivin’ wagons, and some a-horseback. You look upon this and remember it, son, for these folk are goin’ west to populate a new land.
Be we’uns goin’ west, pa?
I reckon not, son. We are of the afflictions that beset these poor travelers, these wayfarers upon the earth. And, I might add, bein’ an affliction is a sight more profitable than planting or plowing and tilling. It surely is … or digging gold, for that matter.
Colonel Jeb Hawkins canted his hat at a rakish angle. Son, you listen to your old father. The world is made up of two kinds of folks, the spoiled and the spoilers … and to my way of thinking it’s a whole sight better to be a spoiler. Now you look sharp. Folks will be comin’. Hawkins turned back toward the log and canvas hut, but paused to add, And mind you … destroy that canoe.
When he had deposited the last bale of furs at the shack, Marty returned to the landing to sink the canoe. He did so reluctantly, for he admired its fine, clean lines. When he turned it bottom up and dropped a rock upon it, he had to try several times before he cracked the bark. Then he shoved it off into the water and sank it, weighting it down with other rocks, just in case. His thoughts returned to the mountain man’s rifle. Pa should give him that rifle instead of selling it. Pa was always for selling everything, and meanwhile he’d let his own son be without a rifle-gun.
Movement on the water some distance off caught his eye. Pa! he called. Rafts a-comin’l Another man stepped from the woods and shaded his eyes upstream. Two, he said, speaking back over his shoulder. Two big rafts. Marty watched them coming, almost with regret. Pa knew what he was doing, he guessed. Anyway, things mostly turned out the way he said, only sometimes the folks on those rafts seemed like right nice people. Dora, she was like pa. She took right to it … like with that mountain man last night … He scowled at the rafts, almost hoping they would not stop. There was a wistfulness in him, too. Why couldn’t he and pa and Dora go west of their ownselves? Pa always made light of a man owning land, but a place of their own … he would fancy that. The idea of cutting loose and leaving to be on his own had never occurred to him. They were a family, and they had always been together. He had never liked to think of what they were doing … actually, he had taken part in only one killing, and that had been a fight. It was mostly Dora and pa who did that, while he handled the outside work.
Marty scowled as he turned away from the river. Pa knew what he was doing. They almost always had money, and time to time they went to town to do some spending; but there was a time or two when he’d been on the land, when he’d smelled the earth freshly plowed, or hay freshly cut… it made a man want a place of his own.
Zebulon Prescott sighted the narrow island from well upstream, and he stood tall, holding the steering oar with one hand, shading his eyes toward the island. There was a sign of some kind … and what looked like a building. Harvey’s raft was not far off to the right, and Harvey called over: Island! Do we stop?
Might’s well, Prescott shouted. Likely the last the folks will see of a store for some time. He was close enough to make out the sign now. Might be news of the river.
There had been talk of the falls of the Ohio, and while some said it was not much of a falls, to a man with his family on a raft, any falls or rapids could mean trouble. Using his steering oar, he worked the big raft in toward the breakwater.
This was a natural barrier of rocks and debris that partly sheltered an acre or so of shallow cove where the landing had been built. Unwieldy as the big rafts were, the cove was so situated that it required only a few moves of the big sweeps to get the rafts into the cove.
Such rafts varied considerably in size, owing to variation in materials available and the requirements of the builders. Prescott’s raft was just over twenty feet in length and fifteen feet wide. In the center of the raft was the hut, which was merely a frame covered with tent canvas, seven feet long by six feet wide. Behind the hut was a mound of their goods, covered with another stretched canvas.
The Harvey raft was almost a duplicate of theirs, except that the hut was larger, built to shelter the boys and the family goods. Colonel Hawkins himself was at the landing to greet them. He lifted his hat and gestured toward the store. My name is Bedloe, gentlemen! An’ this here is Bedloe’s Landing! We have all manner of fixin’s an’ supplies, whether for man or beast.
Zebulon Prescott hesitated, his attention going from Bedloe to the store. He decided instantly that he did not like the man, but on the other hand, he had seen the eagerness in the faces of Rebecca and the girls and knew they were excited at the prospect of shopping in an actual store. Bedloe was obviously a windbag, and Zebulon did not take to his kind, but the prospects of a store interested him too. There were a few things he wanted, and several he would get if the prices were right. After all, a man starting a place of his own could use tools, and there were a couple of items he had overlooked buying.
Come up to the store, folks! Welcome to Bedloe’s Landing! Do come up-all of you! My boys will see to your things! Excited at being ashore and at the chance to shop, they trooped up the path, laughing and talking. The store was well stocked from loot taken from dozens of settlers and from an occasional peddler. Bullet molds, powder, flints, knives, hatchets, coils of rope, axes, saws, bolts of canvas, and a few used rifles, pistols, and shotguns were offered for sale.
On a board at the side were some bottles of toilet water, some cheap jewelry, and a dozen lithographed prints.
Lilith picked up a bottle of the toilet water. Pa, can I have this toilet water? Genuine Parisian scent, it says.
Zebulon took the bottle in his fingers. Fifteen cents? That’s too dear. Right, suh! Hawkins said. Save the pennies and the dollars will grow. Likely a man of your judgment, suh, has made many a dollar grow. Well, Mr. Bedloe, Zebulon replied dryly, my life long I been strivin’ to avoid riches, and I think I’ve succeeded right well. And whatever I’ve got in the sock is goin’ to stay there.
My sentiments exactly, suh! The colonel turned to Harvey. And you, suh-a man of property if I ever saw one. Why, a man like you might be holdin’ up to a thousand dollars!
Harvey merely looked at him, then glanced down the counter at Sam, who had picked up a rifle, which he was slowly turning in his hands. Burned into the wood of the stock were the initials, L. R.
Pa?
Something in Sam’s tone arrested his father’s attention, and Zebulon turned and walked to where Sam stood, holding the rifle.
Pa-Sam lowered his voice-did you ever see this rifle before? Hawkins glanced at them sharply, half-overhearing the words. Quickly he turned to Dora, who was talking to Eve.
Have you any books? Eve was asking.
We got an almanac, I think. I’ll look around. From the corner of her eye Dora caught the frantic signal from her father, and hurried from the door. It’s his rifle, Sam whispered. Now, how does it come to be down here when he was headed upstream? And he would never, under no circumstances, sell his rifle.
Zebulon Prescott was struck with sudden panic. Get out, his instincts warned him. Get out fast.
Son, I think—
The canvas walls of the tent store suddenly fell to reveal four rifles lying across the top of the log wall, four hard-eyed men standing behind them. Rebecca cried out sharply and gathered Zeke to her. Zebulon turned his head carefully. Three more rifles were aimed at their backs.
Now, now! the colonel cautioned. Nobody needs to be scared. There’s womenfolks an’ children here, an’ it seems likely you folks wouldn’t want no shootin’ to start.
Zebulon Prescott hesitated, fury mounting within him, and Sam glanced uneasily at his father. He well knew his father’s temper, for easy-going and friendly as he was, Zebulon was hot-headed and bull-strong when pu
shed. We’ll stand, Sam said quietly.
Almost as if by agreement the men of their party turned to face the river pirates. Zeke pulled away from his mother and stood with them. Briskly, Hawkins, Marty, and Dora began frisking their prisoners for what valuables might be carried on their persons, carefully avoiding the line of fire in the process.
Be of good cheer, folks! Hawkins said genially. Tis in the noble tradition to fare forth and conquer the wilderness with bare hands and stout hearts. We will leave you upon this island, and if you stand quiet, perhaps even an axe might be left behind so you can build new rafts and sally forth in the spirit of your forefathers. Americans just can’t be whupped! I’ll see you hang, Bedloe! Zebulon declared furiously. I’ll see you hang if it’s the last thing I do!
Linus Rawlings, guiding an ancient canoe, sighted the island in midstream. Dipping his paddle deep, he shot the canoe toward the brushy shore. There had been no sign on the island when he had passed it going upstream, yet the painted letters had a familiar look. Accustomed to interpreting the tracks left by all manner of varmints, he found something in the shaping of the letters that he thought he recognized. If he was mistaken, it would take but minutes to find out.
Back there at the cave, when he had recovered sufficiently to examine the place where he had been tricked and robbed, he had found the cave abandoned. At the landing there was nothing of which to make a float-everything was gone. It was then he recalled the abandoned trail he had seen on first approaching the cave; and returning, he followed the ancient trail to a hidden, tiny cove. Concealed in the brush he found a battered canoe with a hole stove in the side. He repaired the hole with birch bark peeled from a nearby tree, a patching job that had taken him less than an hour to do. The canoe had been long abandoned, and it was unlikely that the thieves had known of its existence. The paddle he found by the simple expedient of looking in several places where he might himself have hidden one had the canoe been his. Now, having moored his canoe close under the overhang of a tree, he worked his way through the brush toward the landing. Wily as any Indian, carrying only the knife for a weapon, he drew closer.
Men were coming down the trail carrying furs … his furs. We pullin’ out? he heard one of them ask. Kit an’ caboodle, Marry said. Pa wants to be shet of this place before others come along. Powerful lot of folks on the Ohio these days, an’ you know pa … he likes to keep movin’. Maybe six months, maybe a year from now, he’ll be back along here, workin’ the same stands. Marty glanced at the rafts. Turn them loose when you’re finished. We’ll let em go into the rapids an’ bust up.
The men who had carried the furs returned along the trail for another load, and Marty went to a dugout and began stowing rifles. Wraithlike, Linus eased back into the brush and then into the water. Swimming under water, he made for the landing. Only a minute or two later he came up soundlessly in the shadowed space beneath it. For an instant he remained still, catching his breath. Dust and fragments of bark fell from the log landing as Marty worked above him. The stern of a dugout drifted out from the landing and Marty reached out to draw it near.
Coming along the trail with a load of furs, one of the men saw Marty reach for the dugout … and vanish.
The man stopped, staring and trying to make sense of what he had seen. Marty had been there, now he was gone. A widening circle of ripples showed on the water. Suddenly Marty lunged up from the water, gasping and crying out in a panic of fear. Blood streamed from a wound in his side. Then he fell back into the water. With a frightened yell the man dropped his bundle and fled back up the trail … but not quickly enough.
Linus lunged from under the landing, and grabbing a rifle from the dugout, he flipped it to his shoulder and fired just as the fleeing man was disappearing from sight. But Linus was too old a hand to miss such a shot, leading his target just enough.
The man threw up his hands and fell face forward, out of sight. Instantly Linus leaped for the brush and, once out of sight, was instantly still. He had neither powder nor shot, and his weapon was now empty, useful only as a club.
Moving swiftly through the brush, he reached the clearing where the store was. Colonel Hawkins stood outside the store, clutching a double-barreled pistol. He was obviously listening, trying to figure out what had happened at the landing. A quick sizing-up of the situation at the store told Linus his best chance for quick action would come from Zebulon or Sam. Drawing back his knife, he threw it into the back of the man guarding them.
Then all hell broke loose. Zebulon grabbed the falling man’s rifle by the barrel and drove it hard at the face of the guard close to the wall of the store. The thief leaped back and Zebulon reversed the rifle, and the two men fired as one. The thief’s bullet was a clean miss, and it smashed into the wall on the far side, scattering chips of bark. Zebulon’s shot killed the guard. Hawkins wheeled and fired simultaneously. His first bullet struck Sam and knocked him to his knees; the second bullet killed Colin Harvey. Hawkins ducked and ran, coattails flying, into the brush. Dora followed him out of the clearing.
Swinging his rifle like a club, Linus had followed his knife into the fight. It was by no means his first experience in such a melee, and he floored the last of Hawkins’ men.
Eve, retreating toward the brush with her mother and Lilith, recognized Linus. Her eyes caught his lean, swiftly moving figure even as he left the brush to plunge into the fight. Oh, it’s him! she cried out. It’s him! As always in such situations, the action ended as abruptly as it had begun. At one instant there had been cries, shots, wild blows, and running men; then there was sunlight and shadow falling over the clearing’s edges … some gasping for breath … a muffled groan.
Rebecca for once had forgotten Zeke, and was kneeling above Sam. The Harvey boys had gone into the brush, pursuing Hawkins and Dora, while Eve ran to Linus. You’re hurt! There’s blood on your back!
It’s all right, he said. I’ve got to round up my furs and get goin’. She drew back, dropping her arms stiffly; her eyes searched his face. Then you didn’t come back to-? The excitement was gone from her face. No, I see you didn’t. Somehow they got your furs and it was them you came after. I might have known.
He avoided her eyes, embarrassed by his own sense of guilt and by the hurt in her eyes. This was quite a woman, he told himself, a woman with the kind of courage he had always admired. He knew what it must have cost her in pride to have come to him that first time. Trouble was, he was no marryin’ man. If he was, this would be the girl-she surely would be. The Harveys came plodding back through the brush. Got away, Harvey said tiredly. Had them a dugout hid on the other side of the island. I fired, Brutus said. I think I put lead into him. Can’t be sure.
Let them go, Prescott said. Their sins will catch up with them. He avoided even looking at Sam. Rebecca, assisted by Lilith, was doing all anybody could. The thought of losing Sam shook him deeply, and he could not stand knowing how serious his wounds might be. Sam had changed since the trip began, becoming a man almost at once, making his own decisions and moving with a certainty Zebulon had never seen in him before. Perhaps the very act of leaving the farm, Zebulon’s farm, had been responsible for that. Now they were just two men together, each standing on his own feet, doing his own share of the work.
For the first time, looking at Sam and at the body of Colin Harvey, Zebulon Prescott began to realize what the cost of this western venture might be. No new land is gained without blood and suffering, and they had been bold to leave all behind to go into the Ohio River country. They might yet pay a high price for their boldness.
They had scarcely begun … how many would die before the West was won? How many by river, by disease, by blizzard and tornado and flood? How many by starvation and exhaustion? It was a long way to the shining mountains. He was glad they were not going that far … nor many miles farther, when it came to that. Turning away, he began to go through what was left within the store. There was a little they could add to their own supplies-some food, some ammunition, extra bullet m
olds, and weapons. With Zeke to help, he began slowly sorting things out. All, or most of it, had been stolen. The owners might now be dead-dead or gone on west. Sometimes it amounted to the same thing. Linus Rawlings piled his own furs on the small landing. He had seen his canoe on the bottom of the cove, only a few feet under the water, and was hopeful it might be repaired. He recovered his rifle, and added to his store some of the stock of powder and lead.
Eve and her mother had made a bed for Sam that was shaded, and Linus helped Zebulon move the wounded man.
Only when all his furs were on the landing did he wade into the cove and remove the stones from the canoe. Brutus Harvey helped him beach it on the slanting shore, and Linus checked it for repairs. It needed only two sections of birch bark, for Marty’s efforts to destroy the canoe had been halfhearted at best. Linus swore softly as he went to work. It seemed all he was doing these days was patching canoes. This one was large, and other than the damaged areas it was in good shape and comparatively new. The beat-up old canoe he had found in the brush near the cave was too small for his load of furs, but it had been swift and easily handled.
Footsteps sounded on the path behind him … he cringed inwardly. Yet even as he did so he felt an odd warmth, a very real pleasure. It irritated him that he should be so confused about himself. After all, what did he want to do? She walked up beside him and stopped, looking down at the damaged canoe. It’ll be a job, Linus said, but I can patch her up as good as new. Linus … ?
Eve, let’s talk no more about it.
Linus, I’m telling you. You don’t know your own mind. Maybe so, maybe not. I ain’t denyin’ you been in my thoughts, but I still went to see the varmint with that pirate gal. I’ll always be goin’ to see the varmint, Eve-I just ain’t cut out to be either a farmer or a husband. Linus, I’m not going to bring the matter up again, whether I ever see you again or not.
That’s best, and I wish you Godspeed, Eve, and it’s been a long time since I said the like to anybody.
How the West Was Won (1963) Page 5
