by J. R. WRIGHT
The captain now ordered an anchor dropped from the bow and signaled the two men there to do just that. It was a last ditch effort to slow their descending drift. The wood station they had spent the night at had long since slipped out of sight. They were rapidly retracing river they had traveled the previous day.
Breanne, feeling the reverse movement across the choppy water, became frightened and clung to Luke.
The anchor had been a desperate move, and it seemed to be working. That, along with the increased speed of the wheel, had almost slowed their downriver drift to a stop. Although it seemed they were going forward at a rapid pace when watching the river passing by, in reality, gauging by the landmarks on shore, they were near a standstill.
The captain came down just as Luke and Breanne went back to carrying wood.
“We’ve got her holding steady,” he said as he passed by. “Could get worse though.”
Luke followed him into the boiler room with an armload of wood and noticed the firebox was red hot. The big pressure gauge now registered five hundred, far above the three hundred noticed earlier.
The struggle to hold ground continued until mid-afternoon, when the boat slowly began to climb up on the anchor rope, and the captain ordered it cut. He considered it too much of an effort to try to free it from the muddy bottom.
They had drifted an estimated ten miles downriver. Now, two hours after the anchor rope was cut, they once again reached the wood station. The rain had stopped and the wind had subsided considerably. The woodmen were at the levee, shouting and waving as they slowly passed. Some were shouts of good luck to the newlyweds.
Now that the worst was over, Captain Cooper told Luke he could go about his business, knowing full well what lay ahead for him at the other end of the boat. He had seen it happen from the pilothouse, but there was nothing he could do about it then. He had a boat to save at the time.
“Thank you for your help, Luke. You too, Missus McKinney,” he said and tipped his hat.
Luke and Breanne felt good for what they had done and walked away arm-in-arm, expecting to climb under the wagon for a well-deserved nap. On the way, however, Pierre came rushing up to them.
“It’s the wagon,” he said excitedly.
“What about the wagon?” Luke brushed past him to take a look for himself.
“The wind caught her,” Pierre said, running along beside him to keep up with Luke’s fast walk. “The mules are alright. I was with them the whole time.”
The wagon lay on its side, the contents scattered across the deck.
“What’s missing?” Luke asked, coming up on it.
“Well, it’s most of the traps and the food supplies. What food isn’t missing is ruined.” Then sadly, he said, “The gold, except for what we have on us. It was in my bag of things.”
Luke, however, had news for him about that.
“The gold is in Breanne’s steamer trunk in Cooper’s cabin. When I found someone had been in the wagon, I moved it there for safe keeping.”
With that Pierre cheered and did a little jig on the deck. “Yahoo!” he shouted.
Looking around Luke took note of what was still there. Most of the heavier things such as the tool chest, the sausage stuffer, the barrels of whiskey, and the big bore rifle were spotted. What wasn’t there, however, was the three bags of beaver traps, nearly all the blankets, except for the ones still nailed to the wagon, the gun powder, and the canvas top for the wagon, which had been ripped off in the wind by the looks of parts of it that were still attached. The remainder of the rifles were missing, along with the most treasured item of all to Luke: the small wooden box containing his mother’s letter and her other things, things he hoped to keep to remember her by.
Breanne was tearful seeing his grief and went to him.
Soon several of the crew and passengers arrived and assisted in righting the wagon and reloading the items strewn about the deck. Then in no time, using the bear skins and buffalo robe, Luke made a bed under the wagon and put Breanne down to rest. It had been an exhausting ordeal. The wedding, little sleep, and then the storm and all that came with it. She was asleep in no time, but for him sleep would not come. His concern was: how could they ever replace the important things lost in the storm? Can’t trap without traps, he reasoned. And a person can’t shoot without guns and powder.
That was answered when Pierre came at sundown with plates of food for the three of them.
“We won’t be getting off at the Big Sioux. Now we’ll have to go on up to Fort Tecumsey,” Pierre said.
Pierre Chouteau, Jr. had changed the name of the trading fort to Fort Pierre back in 1832, when the American Fur Company bought it and built the new post next to the old structure. Many still called the place by its previous name – Tecumseh – or Tecumsey, as Pierre did, more often than not.
“Will we take the boat back to the Big Sioux once we replace the supplies lost?”
“No need. Just as well go northeast from there. Considerable further though.”
“Do you know that country?”
“Trapped, roamed, or been chased through most of it at one time or another.”
With that Breanne laughed.
“Chased through it?”
“Some of them redskins get a bit angry if you don’t mind your own business when it comes to their women,” he said and laughed with her.
“What’s with the Omaha then?” She went on to tell Pierre what Preacher Pearson had said about them freely sharing their women.
“There are some things a pretty woman’s ears just should not hear,” Pierre said, to Luke’s obvious relief.
“But, since you asked, them Omahas march to a different drumbeat.” He swirled a finger near his head.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Now even Luke was curious.
“Let’s just say I always kept a firm hand on my trousers when I was among them she-men.”
Breanne laughed again. “You’re joking, aren’t you?”
“Never been more serious. That Pearson fellow may be a bit that way himself,” Pierre said. “That’s the only reason I can come up with why a man would be offended if outright given the company of a woman for a spell.”
“Because he’s a preacher?” Luke said. “They don’t believe in such things.”
“Don’t I know it,” Pierre said. “With them, if it’s fun it’s got to be sinful.”
They all had a good laugh on that one.
“We have the whiskey,” Luke said. “Think we ought to lighten the load, since we’ll have further to go now?”
“Maybe that’s the only way we’ll get a fair trade,” Pierre said. “Traps will be triple of what they were in Independence. But then, so is the whiskey. ‘Sides, a person don’t want to be showing too much gold around Tecumsey. It’s one of the trading forts that have a bad sort hanging about. Always has. I was warned of it by Captain Cooper just today, when I told him we needed to go on up.”
“Do we need to pay additional fare?”
“Naw. He wants me to make him some of my smoked sausage instead,” Pierre said. “The woodmen gave him two fresh killed dear and some salt brined buffalo gut, and he has pork bellies on ice in the galley. Just need to grind her up, spice it, and smoke it.”
“How will you smoke it here on the boat?” Luke asked, recalling the underground pit outside the Blue Bear.
“He asked that too,” Pierre laughed. “I’m going to take a plate section off the smoke stack up there. Will you help me?”
“Sure.”
The two of them went up the steps to the second deck where Pierre ran a hand up and down the huge pipe, checking the temperature. Finally, he settled on the second plate up from the upper deck.
“When the time comes, I want you to remove this plate here.”
The following morning, a spare axe handle lay across the half pipe opening, and from it dangled thirty pounds of cased link sausage, and another four batches waited on ice in the galley.
&nb
sp; Later, when Captain Cooper sampled the first batch, he made the comment, “All you need to make good sausage is a small Frenchman and a big steamboat.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A good man could walk faster than the Missouri Bell was progressing up the Missouri. The current, now five days after the storm, was still swift, and the big wheel’s effort to surpass the speed of the river was unrelenting.
They had been at it day and night, not daring to stop or attempt to anchor, even closer to shore where the current was less swift. The captain was now worried about the firebox giving out. It had been red hot for several days, as was necessary if the boat was to maintain this pace. He had ordered the fireman to ease back at one point when the boiler had such pressure that he was afraid it would blow. This, however, hadn’t worked, and they began losing ground. Of course, losing ground might be what was necessary, if this kept up much longer. Even though the boat would be difficult to steer in a reverse movement, they should be able to stay righted with the river, because they would still be traveling into the current.
“Progression, without advancement. Like a mouse on a tread wheel,” Captain Cooper explained. “Only when he stops does it take him.”
The firebox, because of the intense heat within, had warped to the point that the fire door could no longer be closed. And the temperature in the boiler room had risen to one hundred and thirty degrees, affording each man only a few minutes inside at a time. The crewmen worked in shifts, and they were always shorthanded. Exhausted men lay everywhere out on the cooler deck. Luke and some of the other passengers spelled them when necessary, giving each a few hours rest from time to time.
Captain Coopers’ plan was to reach the mouth of the Big Sioux River, that being less fierce than the Missouri under such conditions, and they could duck in and rest the weary boat until the rush of the now mighty Missouri slowed somewhat. The wood supply was decreasing rapidly, and at this rate they would not have enough to make the fort unless something changed.
According to the captain’s calculations, the mouth of the Big Sioux could not be more than fifty miles distant. If that were accurate, they would reach it by daybreak, or soon thereafter.
Morning brought a bright sun. It felt good after the chill of the night, when Luke climbed shirtless from beneath the wagon to look about for Breanne. He had a notion where she would be since she seldom missed a sunrise, if there was to be one. Seeing her at the rail, he pulled on his buckskin shirt, donned his hat, and went to join her.
Feeling his closeness, Breanne turned briefly with a beaming smile and slipped an arm around his waist. Her attention was captured now by the closeness of the boat to the riverbanks on both sides. A practiced tobacco chewer could almost spit that far, she reckoned. They had entered the calm waters of the Big Sioux, which was a relief from the choppy whirlpool of waters at the fork where the two rivers met. Now they eased forward, propelled only by momentum as the fireman blew the remaining steam from the boiler. One last weak blast from the steam whistle prompted the drop of the aft anchor.
“We’ll be moored here for a couple of days,” Captain Cooper said as he passed on his way to check the damage done to the firebox. “Maybe that damned river will settle some by then. If not, then we’ll be here even longer. Wouldn’t advise leaving the boat though. Never know what may be in those woods.” Cooper scanned the thick forest of leafless skeleton-like trees that lined the river before moving on.
Taking heed of that, the joy that consumed Breanne’s heart was instantly overcome by fear.
“Luke!” she said, wide-eyed as he led her away.
He took her to the wagon where he reached in for the big bore rifle Pierre had recharged after the storm. Having that in hand, they headed for the galley, where they expected to find Pierre busy at serving up breakfast. And they did. Momentarily, plates of sausage biscuits and gravy were shoved at them by one of the galley crew, as Pierre gave them a nod from the kitchen.
“Morning,” he said.
“Good morning,” Breanne said, seemingly back to her cheerful self.
That was, until Cooper came in a short time later.
“If any of you have guns, I suggest you make them handy. I just saw an Indian back in the trees out there. They’re like rats. And you know what they say about rats. If you see one, you’ve got a hundred. Let’s be ready, folks.”
Once that was said, everyone hurried to finish their breakfasts and then rushed out to arm themselves. Seeing Luke and Breanne were already armed, Pierre came over.
“Settle yourselves! Them’s most likely Yanktonai,” he said. Seeing the question marks on their faces he went on, “The Yanktonai never much took to guns, nor Whiteman’s ways. Probably just curious as to why we’re here, is all. Nobody would know that, less you lived among them.”
“You lived among them?” Luke found it hard to believe all that came from Pierre’s mouth. Seemed to him he’d done an awful lot so far in his life. But then, he had been out in the wild for near forty years. Given that, and the fact that he was still alive, had to count for something.
“Spent two winters with them after Franz was dead. Remember it like yesterday.”
If Pierre had been at the Blue Bear for over a decade, and Franz was killed a decade or so before that, much could have changed in that time. Just because it seemed like yesterday to Pierre didn’t mean it was. These redskins could have a whole new attitude by now.
Just as a precaution, Luke got some help and unloaded the whiskey barrels from the wagon. If there was to be a battle, he wanted the protection of a breastwork for him and Breanne. Several more Indian sightings had been made throughout the day. Even Breanne had seen them. She pointed out two of them far back into the woods who appeared to be children, which proved true when a larger female darted out and pulled them from view.
Of course, all of this meant nothing. They could just be curious, as Pierre had said. Certainly no one on the boat was alarmed yet. Though keeping a watchful eye out, most on the boat went about their chores as if it were any other day.
That evening Luke decided, since they were there, to make their bed behind the whiskey barrels on the deck, just in case. At least that seemed agreeable to Breanne, who went running to help bring over the animal robes when he suggested it.
Captain Cooper came by after dark, and noticing they were still awake, propped against the barrels and said, “I don’t expect any trouble from them tonight. If they come at all, it will more than likely be early morning. I’ve got a man standing guard on the hurricane deck. You may as well try to get some sleep.”
Unbeknownst to Luke and Breanne, at some point during the night Pierre slipped over, took up a place next to them, then sat with his back to a barrel. He had a sixth sense when it came to Indians, and something had brought him from his bunk that not even he could explain. Maybe it was the sudden quietness. It appeared the wilderness animals had silenced themselves in the presence of danger. No longer did hoot owls hoot, or even the loons on the river coo.
It was Breanne that awoke first. She had been a light sleeper since the incident with Hans, and any sign of something amiss in the night alarmed her. In this case it was the creaking of a deck board that brought her bolt upright. Her first vision was of figures moving across the far deck in the darkness. At second glance she noticed a swarm of movement at the stern. They were climbing up over the paddle wheel. Instantly she rose to her feet and looked over the rail. The water was filled with them. Some were swimming, others drifted with logs, and all were headed for the boat.
Her first thought was to scream, but she quickly reconsidered. In the faint light of a clouded moon, their shadowed position beside the barrels may go unnoticed. Pierre was awake – Breanne noticed the whites of his eyes as he looked over at her. Gently now, she nudged Luke, who awoke quietly and sat upright.
Pierre reached up and placed two fingers over his lips before Luke had a chance to notice what was happening. He then grasped the big bore that was propped against a b
arrel and pointed it skyward. The thunderous roar was deafening.
Quickly Luke sprang to his feet, and in unison with Pierre, capsized two of the whiskey barrels, rolled them forward, and crouched behind them. Breanne remained sitting with her back to the upright barrels until Luke pulled her down with them. But it was a needless action. With the roar of the big bore, all the Indians on the boat made it for the rails and dived over. All those that were coming up did likewise. And those in the water quickly reversed course.
Of course, others, discharging their rifles shortly thereafter, put a little speed in the actions of the departing Indians, but it was the big bore that initiated the original fear in them. The gun was made for a double charge of powder, and Pierre always loaded it with just that.
It was over as quickly as it had begun. Shortly thereafter the captain rang the bell from the pilothouse, then stepped out onto the deck in the dawning light.
“Is anyone hurt?”
Nobody responded to his question, but there was plenty of chatter and some laughter otherwise.
“Well, I didn’t think so. It seems Pierre, with that cannon of his, ended the war before it started.
Now laughter came heartily.
“Some of you may want…”
Suddenly Cooper stopped speaking. A lone arrow had come from nowhere and struck him in the chest. He reached for and gripped the railing for a time, then slumped to his knees.
Luke ran to the side of the boat to see where the arrow had come from. There were some Indians moving about down river, fishing out those injured from the fall. Otherwise all was calm.
“Would someone please come up here and help me, dammit?” the captain requested gruffly.
With that, several of the crew went up the steps, but before they got to him, he had already removed the arrow, which had lodged in his breast bone. Two of the crew got ahold of his arms and two others went for the legs. Before this went to far, however, Cooper fought himself free of them and got up on his own.
“I’m okay,” he said.
From there Cooper went down to the galley, where he hoped a flour poultice would stop the bleeding, which wasn’t much to begin with. Pierre followed him in with a suggestion.
