Some folks travelin’ with the Harveys took the wrong branch of the river in the storm, an’ they went over the falls.
You hear the name?
Prescott … an’ good folks, Harvey said. They looked at him curiously.
Harvey said he lost a boy in a fight with river pirates hereabouts. Linus indicated the island behind him with a jerk of his head. He’s buried right back there. How about the Prescotts? Was anybody saved? Harvey didn’t know. He was twenty mile downstream and hadn’t seen any of them, so he figured they all were lost, the whole shootin’ match. The man in the stern of the canoe spoke up. We’d better high-tail it. He grinned at Linus. Way I feel, you better hurry or there won’t be any whiskey left. I aim to drink it all.
Linus returned to his work, and finished in a matter of minutes. He lifted the canoe and shoved it into the water, then stood watching for the telltale seep of water, but there was none. While he stood there his mind was a blank … he thought of nothing, simply staring into the bottom of the canoe. Finally, he began to load his furs, taking his time and thinking as he worked, and by the time the canoe was loaded he decided he did not wish to live in a world where there was no Eve.
Within him there was a vast emptiness, an emptiness of feeling, of resolution, of everything. The girls and the whiskey of Pittsburgh no longer drew him; even the sight of the ocean seemed somehow unnecessary and pointless. She was gone … Eve was gone.
Until that moment he had not realized how much she meant to him. For years he had lived with no care but for himself. He had been free … but he had been lonely too.
Eve had come quietly into his life with her own kind of loneliness, and fearing that loneliness more than what might happen to her pride, she had come to him. Quietly and honestly she had tried to win him.
There had been no skill in her, no feminine artifice. She was frank, open, sincere … and terribly in need … as he was in need. Bitterly, he considered the years so recently past, and knew that much of his restlessness had been inspired by his own loneliness, his need for somebody, for something to care about. At first his wandering had the love of the strange, wild lands-that free, open country with its magnificent mountains, its rivers flowing from God knew where, its towering beauty … but after a while the strange lands had not been enough. He knew that now, when Eve was gone. Yet … suppose she still lived? Suppose even now she lay back there, somewhere on the banks of the river, alone and hurt?
He had lived too long in the wilderness not to know that the human body can survive all manner of hardship and torture. Every mountain man knew the terrible story of Hugh Glass, ripped and torn by a grizzly, left for dead by his traveling companions; yet he had crawled more than a hundred miles and walked more hundreds, fighting wolves for the carcass of a buffalo, and coming safely to civilization.
Every mountain man also knew the story of John Coulter, who was forced by Blackfeet to run the gauntlet, and how he broke through the line and, stark naked, raced off, pursued by the Blackfeet. He had killed his closest pursuer with his own spear and escaped, fleeing until his bare feet were mere ugly masses of blood and flesh … yet he had escaped, and he had survived. At least two men Linus had known had survived scalping … there were many such tales. He loaded the last bundle of furs and covered them with the buffalo hide and lashed it down. He was no longer thinking, he was acting swiftly, for he had to know. If she was dead, he must be sure. If she was lying back there injured and alone, he must go to her aid.
He shoved off, downstream. The falls were not bad for a man in a canoe who had run the rough water on the Yellowstone and the Snake. For a larger boat or a raft they were deceptively dangerous. He dipped his paddle deep and shot the canoe into the teeth of the rapids. She might be, she had to be alive. He glimpsed them standing on the riverbank before they saw him. He saw them, but could not quite make them out, for the canoe was shooting the chutes of the falls … then the falls themselves, and he dipped the paddle deep and shot the canoe off into space. It hit the water with a smack … a dip of the paddle, then another, and he was out of the churning pool. It’s Linus, Eve said, and walked to meet him. He drew the canoe up on the shore and turned to face them, and their faces told him all he needed to know-their faces and the few odds and ends they had saved from the water.
Sam looked thin and drawn, and had no business even being on his feet. It would be weeks, maybe months, before he was back to normal. Zeke looked all right, but the boy needed some age on him.
Your folks? Were they-?
We buried them yonder, Eve said quietly. They drowned together. Ma was no hand in the water, and pa wasn’t the sort to leave her. We found them snagged in the brush, a mite downstream.
If anybody had a straight ticket to heaven it would be them. His eyes looked into hers. Eve, I ain’t much on talkin’, nor am I any hand to court a woman, but all the way down here I been tellin’ myself that if I found you alive … Eve, will you go east with me?
No, Linus, I’m stayin’ right here. I’m not movin’ a foot, one way or the other. Ma and pa, they wanted a farm in the West, and this is as far as they got. Seems to me this is where the Lord intended them to be. Sam will need rest an’ care, Eve, an’ winter’s comin’ on. I mean there ain’t but a couple of months of time-less’n that-before snow flies. Winters here are tol’able hard.
I’m going to stay, Linus. I’m going to make my home right here. I don’t like to say it, you being bereft an’ all, but you ain’t makin’ much sense, Eve. I don’t need to tell you that.
Half the folks who come west don’t make much sense, Linus. You know it as well as I do.
Linus looked at her for a long time, and then he looked up and studied his surroundings. Dense forest of huge trees stood about, and very little brush, for this was virgin forest that had never been cut off to give the brush a chance. But the meadow drew his attention as it had drawn Eve’s, and he stepped around her and strolled out through the trees to look at the meadow and the grassy bench that overlooked it. Yes, he decided reluctantly, it was a good place, a very good place.
That trickle of water running down from the bench meant there was a spring up there somewhere, and the stream in the meadow’s bottom was three to four feet wide and half that in depth. The grass was good, and judging by the grass and other vegetation, he knew the soil was rich.
He had noticed already, his hunter’s eye being quick to observe such things, the tracks and the droppings of deer. A bit earlier when coming downriver he had seen a black bear at the water’s edge. Oh, it was a game country, no mistaking that!
The river offered good transportation. From here a man could easily go downstream to the Mississippi with whatever he had to sell-furs and the like-and he could grow most of what the forest did not provide. A man could build a right nice house on that bench, using timber from the slope behind, and there was plenty of fuel for the winter in the deadfalls and such like that lay about. If a man looked spry he might even find stray cattle in the brush, for he had heard of westing pioneers losing their stock. Eve, he said when he again came back to her side, you’re a strong-minded woman. I reckon I’ve seen the varmint for the last time. He turned to the others. You’re all welcome to stay on with us. This here will be your home as long as you want, and whenever you’re of a mind to come back. Sam, I’m thinking you’ll be wanting to go west, but you’d best stay on an’ get your strength back. Zeke, you’re welcome.
He turned to Lilith and she drew back. I’m goin’ east, Linus. I said it to them and I’ll say it to you. I don’t want to live on no farm. Why, that’s what I figured, he replied mildly. If you don’t feel you ought, you oughtn’t. But you’d best wait until I sell my furs. Fixin’s … you’ll be needin’ some fixin’s. If a woman is goin’ east among proper folk, she’d best be dressed to meet it. Without folks knowin’ you, they set store by the way you look. And then I figure you’ll make out if you have one of those there accordions like you had.
He took out his pipe and filled
it carefully. When I sell my furs I’ll see you’re fixed up proper, with some money to bide you. After that, it will be up to you.
Lilith started to speak, then her eyes filled with tears and, turning, she fled toward the riverbank.
Eve, if we’re fixin’ to stay, we’d best pick a site for a house. You boys come along. We’ll be needin’ advice, more’n likely. Together, they walked up the slope to the bench where the house would stand. The meadows would lie before them, and on their right would be the river where they could watch the boats go by.
I figured the kitchen about there, Linus suggested. If a woman has something to watch, she doesn’t feel so closed in, like. And there you can see the boats. Time goes on, they’ll be plentiful.
He turned to Sam. Even if you’re not going to stay, you’d best stake out some land next to mine. I can farm it, and if you never come back, I’ll have it. If you do, it will be yours. Always warms a man to feel he owns himself some land, somewheres.
He looked toward the river. They would have their own landing, of course.
Part 2-THE PLAINS
The distances were immeasurable, the difficulties uncountable, but hundreds of men and women with white-topped prairie schooners came in plodding, dogged streams. This was a land of peril, thundering herds of buffalo, savage red riders who struck and slew and fled to turn and strike mercilessly again. This was a land whose asking price was blood and raw, unbeatable courage…
Chapter 7
Cleve van Valen paused on the corner and glanced distastefully at the river of mud that separated him from the lush confines of the Planters’ Hotel and its boasted 215 rooms and the largest ballroom west of the Alleghenies. He was not planning to dispute their claim. All he wanted was to get across the street without ruining the polish on his elegant Paris-made boots or spattering the fine broadcloth suit, tailored in New Orleans. The truth of the matter was that Cleve van Valen was riding a streak of bad luck at the tables and elsewhere, and he knew enough of gambling to know any man was a loser who played when he had to win.
The run of bad luck was no new thing, for it actually had begun, he decided bitterly, almost fifteen years ago when his father dropped dead of a heart attack while Cleve had been taking the Grand Tour of Europe. Rushing home as swiftly as the sea would permit, he found he had been less swift than the vultures, for in the interim his father’s estate had mysteriously vanished. Scarcely twenty-one, and without business experience, he listened to the glib explanations of his father’s associates and knew they lied … but they had covered their actions very well.
They showed him notes signed by his father that he knew were forgeries, but he had no evidence, and the men who had defrauded him were prominent in business and social circles. He had no evidence, and what little sympathy there was for him was lost when he called John Norman Black a liar and a thief. Black challenged him, making a great show of regret at the necessity. A skilled duelist and a noted pistol shot, Black assured all who knew him that the duel had been forced on him, and the last thing he wanted was a duel with the son of his former partner.
Yet on the field of honor, when they stood briefly back to back and out of earshot of the others, Black spoke over his shoulder. Had your father not dropped dead, I should have killed him, for I did rob him and he discovered it. I shall now kill you.
Perhaps he hoped to make Cleve angry enough to be careless. Perhaps he merely wished to twist the knife in the wound. John Norman Black was a dead shot, and unworried. He took the required paces and turned, bringing his pistol down on the target.
Cleve van Valen had never fought a duel nor fired a pistol in anger, yet there was nothing wrong with his reflexes. Instead of bringing his pistol down in the usual way, taking careful aim, he had simply turned and fired. Black’s pistol exploded harmlessly in the air, and he fell, shot through the heart. Feeling was against Cleve. All believed he had made wild, unreasonable accusations against a reputable citizen, and that he had been a hot-headed fool to challenge him. All agreed he had been astonishingly lucky to kill such a man. Without friends, the estate now far removed from him, he had nothing to gain by remaining in Maryland. So he started west, following the Natchez Trace. He had neither profession nor trade. The business education which his father planned to give him on the job had gone glimmering. The one thing at which he possessed a degree of skill was cards. He had a natural card sense, a good memory, and he played well.
He worked New Orleans, winning and losing, always able to live well, but making no progress. He was young, and he had a liking for money and the spending of it. Moreover, he was a man without a destination.
Natchez, St. Louis, and Cincinnati followed, the river boats, and then, riding a winning streak, Europe. He spent two years there, moving from London to Paris, to Weimar, to Vienna, Innsbruck, and Monte Carlo. He fought his second duel at Nimes, with sabers, and won.
But the winning streaks became fewer, and of shorter duration. He lived well, but the margin with which he played grew narrower, and the feeling grew within him that he was headed for the discard.
He returned to the United States, played a little around New York and Saratoga, often in small, private games. He played honestly, as always, but he played with skill, and he won.
He was well ahead of the game when one night he was recognized as a professional gambler. By noon the following day the clubs were closed to him, and an invitation he had accepted to appear at a party was quietly withdrawn. In Cincinnati he lost much of what he had won, and now in St. Louis he was doing scarcely better. He stared at the river of mud that was the street, and wondered if here, too, he might sink clean out of sight. He was nothing if not honest with himself, and he knew the slight he had received in New York had hurt. Deeply sensitive, he had been proud of his playing, and had never considered playing a crooked game … although he knew how it was done.
He stared at the mud. He was no longer a gentleman-he was a gambler, a questionable character in any sort of society. He was a gambler, and he consorted with gamblers.
Suddenly someone moved up beside him; it was Alien Jones, known wherever men gamed. Going across to the hotel? he asked. He smiled and indicated the street. You’ll never cross that in those boots, Cleve. I’ll bet you the best dinner in St. Louis that I can cross that street without getting a speck of mud on me! Cleve said quickly. Done! Jones replied. I’ll take that bet.
Cleve glanced around. A bulky, heavy-shouldered man of middle age was coming up the street toward them. You, there! Cleve said. I’ll give you five dollars if you’ll take me on your back across to the hotel. The man hesitated, looking from Cleve van Valen to Alien Jones. I’ve a bet on, Cleve explained, that I can cross the street without getting muddy.
The heavy-set man smiled grimly. All right. He backed up to Cleve. Get aboard.
Cleve stepped astride him from the walk’s edge, and, carrying him piggy-back, the man started slopping through the mud.
Hey! Jones yelled. Ten dollars if you drop him!
The man spoke over his shoulder. Want to raise the ante?
We made a deal, Cleve replied. I stand on the terms.
Twenty dollars! Jones yelled.
Hunching Cleve higher, the man struggled on through the mud, then deposited Cleve on the steps of the hotel.
Taking out a thin packet of bills, Cleve peeled off the five dollars and handed them to his bearer. Coolly, the man reached in his own pocket and removed a sack bulging with bills and coins. He added the five dollars to the sack, then grinned at van Valen. A little here, a little there. One day I shall be a rich man.
You refused a larger sum to dump me into the mud, Cleve said. The man glanced at him. You said it yourself. A deal is a deal. If a man’s word is no good in this country he’s nothing.
Come inside, Cleve suggested, and I’ll buy you a drink. Are you new to St.
Louis?
The stocky man grinned. Don’t take me for a man to be plucked, my friend. I’m no gambler. That’s not to say I wo
uldn’t take a flyer in a business way, but business is my game. Never play another man’s game, that’s what I say. He stamped the mud from his boots. Yes, I’ll drink with you. They tell me Professor Jerry Thomas has come up with a new one called the Tom and Jerry. He’s the best bartender in the country, Cleve said. Come on inside. In the bar, he looked at the man again. Maybe I’m wrong, but you look familiar, now that I see you in the light.
I doubt if you saw me more than once or twice. I worked for your father.
Cleve’s expression grew cold. Oh? I don’t recall any friends back there. The man was not disturbed. I’m Gabe French. You didn’t know me; your father did. A time or two when the going was rough he gave me a hand up. French tasted his drink. A good man.
They robbed him, Cleve said bitterly.
That they did … and you as well. It was a good job you did-shooting Black.
He’d had it coming for a long time. French gave a quick glance at van Valen.
Ever done any shooting since then?
When necessary.
You’ve the knack, my friend. I saw it, you know. You simply turned and fired … instantaneous reflexes, no aiming. You simply turned and fired … bull’s-eye.
Alien Jones joined them. I owe you a dinner. Want to collect?
Mr. Jones … Mr. French.
French thrust out his hand. I know you, too, Mr. Jones. Knew you when you were a saddle-maker.
I made good saddles. Alien Jones spoke a little proudly. There’s a great feeling in it, he added. Nothing better than turning a nice bit of work with good leather. I’ll come back to it some day.
Join us for dinner? Cleve said to French.
No, thanks. Got to be moving. Selling mules to folks bound for California, and I’ve about decided to go myself. He turned to Cleve, putting his glass down on the bar. Want to come along? You could do well out there. I know when I’m well off. I’ll stay here.
When Gabe French was gone, Jones turned to Cleve, chuckling. Do you know who he is-that man you hired to pack you across the street? He’s the biggest stockdealer in this part of the country. He’s the richest man in town, if you skip old Choteau.
How the West Was Won (1963) Page 7
