by J. R. WRIGHT
“Do you live around here?” Luke asked.
“Got me a cabin over on the Maple River about two days walk a here. Me and my mule Francis there are out lookin’ for fresh meat.” He gestured toward a tired old white mule up to her knees in snow not thirty feet away. “Our winter supply is near gone.”
“Do you trap?” Luke asked.
“A little. Aren’t many beavers left in these parts.”
“How about further north?”
“Plenty up about three, four day walk. I’d move up there, but I can’t get my woman away from her people.”
“You live with Indians?”
“Across the Maple from their village. That’s as far as the squaw would let me go.”
Pierre had the dutch oven filled with biscuits and a large pan of jerky, along with just enough bacon to give it flavor, slowly sizzling over the fire.
There was no invite given to Charlie. That went without saying in the wild, when a friend entered camp. Pierre simply handed him a tin plate, and he helped himself generously.
“Much obliged,” Charlie said, taking in the aroma. “I’m hungry as a spring bear. And speaking of bear, that’s all I’ve had to gnaw on since I left the cabin. Winter-dried bear ain’t the best unless it’s all you got.” Having said that, he eagerly topped a biscuit with pieces of meat and folded it into a place behind the bushy beard.
“Any Indians up where you said the beaver were good?” Luke asked.
“That’ll be old Tokalu Ohitika, Brave Fox’s people. Their camp is on the other side of the marsh, to the west of the good beaver a fair piece.”
Even though Pierre had never heard the name, he figured this Brave Fox was the principle chief of those they had encountered back on the James River. It made sense, going by the general location of their village.
While Luke and Breanne engaged in a snowball fight after breakfast, Beaver Charlie went to a place of soft untouched snow, purposely fell back in it, and went fast to sleep. Judging by the loud snoring moments later, Luke wondered how the man had survived out here all these years. No way would he go unnoticed while sleeping, by man or beast, even if well hidden.
Charlie stayed around for another four days. He couldn’t seem to pull himself away from Pierre’s cooking and near ate them out of the ready supply of meat. In fact, if it weren’t for Luke coming in from a hunt with three early to arrive ducks and a muskrat, they would be completely out. Charlie ate one of the spit-roasted ducks and a goodly amount of muskrat stew before Pierre spoke up.
“Looks as though we’ll be traveling soon,” he said, knocking the heel from his pipe before rising to toss another piece of wood on the fire. “If this snow melts any more, we’ll be in mud the rest of the way. Mules don’t take well to mud.”
Of course, that was nonsense, but it worked. Charlie borrowed another ration of oats for his white mule Francis, then with a promise to look them up in the North Country come summer, he said his goodbyes and walked away.
Once he was gone, Pierre reloaded his pipe and sat back at the fire for a relaxing smoke.
Seeing this, Breanne stopped picking up around the camp and said, “We are not leaving today, are we?’
“Nope..! Snow’s too deep yet,” he said with a devious smile, which prompted laughter from Luke and Breanne.
Pierre looked up at the bright sun and then at the surrounding snow, which had reduced by half its depth since they had arrived, and said, “Two days more.”
Hearing that, Luke went to the wagon and removed two of the rifles. He and Breanne then walked into the woods toward the river. Luke hoped to come across a deer, but even Breanne knew the ultimate reason for this spontaneous excursion. With Beaver Charlie in their camp once or twice daily, lovemaking had come to a halt. At this point they were near out of their minds with desire and only made it to behind the first big cottonwood before they were at each other. There they fumbled with the flaps on each other’s buckskins, and soon her back was against the tree, legs about his waist.
It must have been a strange sight for the curious buck that came up to within fifty feet and lingered until they were near finished before casually moving on, Luke thought moments later.
That made three that got lucky this afternoon, he smiled.
Seeing the smile, but not having seen the deer, Breanne said as she re-tied her flap, “Glad you liked it.”
“I did,” he responded and kissed her lovingly on her full warm lips before moving on through the wet snow in the direction the buck had come from. Perhaps other deer would come along, he reasoned, if a suitable place to hide Indian style, as Pierre had taught him, was found in the thicker timber ahead.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
On the second day of traveling, the two horses that were cut loose came from the morning fog and fell in behind the wagon. More amazingly, they remained there as if still on the lead rope. Seeing this brought joy to everyone’s heart. They were complete again and happily traveled on.
The snow was near gone, but since it was quite cold yet at night, and the ground remained frozen, there was no mud to deal with – just a sloshing of surface water under the wheels.
After the fog had lifted somewhat, Pierre spotted a bull moose along the trail and reached for the big bore. Then, it seemed for no reason, he changed his mind and whipped the mules into a trot. Thinking this strange, Luke asked, “Something wrong?”
“Indians nearby,” he said, removing the pipe from his mouth and pointing it at the mules. “Their ears can tell you a lot. See how they’re shifting every which way? That means danger is nearby. And nothing excites a mule more than the smell of some Indians.”
Looking around and seeing nothing, Luke said, “Maybe it was the moose that riled them?”
“A mule’s kin to the moose. Their droppings are the same as the mule and the horse. They’re not a-feared of them.”
Again, Luke looked around. Seeing nothing but fog, he climbed back into the wagon. There he gave Breanne a heads up and gathered two more of the rifles.
With that, Breanne quickly put down the Bible and went to the tailgate with a rifle of her own. She doubted she would be able to shoot an Indian if she saw one, but stayed vigilant nonetheless. Maybe if one was charging at her, then she would. But that was yet to be known.
After a time, however, Pierre gave the all clear and everything went back to normal.
“The Indians must have been after the moose. They’re not nearby any longer.” He puffed at the pipe as if desperate to unwind from the ordeal and slowed the mules to a walk once again. “Bobcats and mountain lions will do that to a mule as well.”
“So that’s what you think it was then?” Luke relaxed some.
“Nope! It was Injuns.”
“You think they were some of the same we saw back at the James?”
“Nope! These were different.”
“In what way?”
“The mules never got riled by the Lakota when they was near. These were different,” he repeated. “They know.”
With that, Luke let it drop. He could see no purpose in continuing now that it seemed certain he would never receive an answer he could sink his teeth into.
Sensing this, Pierre finally said, “Could be these Injuns eat horses. Maybe they could smell the blood on them. The Lakota don’t eat horse if they can help it.”
Acknowledging that, Luke looked back through the wagon to see if the two horses were still following, Sir Henry and the paint horse that once belonged to Barney Sparks, and they were.
“Think we ought to tie the horses behind?” Luke questioned.
“As long as they smell those oats back there they’ll follow,” Pierre said. “It’s best they’re loose. If those Injuns back there come after ‘em, we don’t want ‘em attached to us. Besides, they’ll have a better chance of getting away if left to run. Especially that big red horse with his long legs.”
That made sense to Luke, and he put the worry out of his mind. Besides, this whole thing with the In
dians that were never seen had excited him to the point that he was now confusingly aroused, and he climbed back to be with Breanne. Once he saw her fearful, longing eyes in the semi-darkness of the wagon, he knew she was ready for some comforting as well, and there was nothing like the vibration of a moving wagon to make it even better.
Two days later, they crossed a shallow clear water stream that showed a fair number of beaver signs. Pierre stopped the wagon briefly and looked up and down it before moving on to the other side.
“We’ll camp here for a day and scout the area,” Pierre said, sizing up the many tall pine trees in the area. If a cabin needed to be built, this may be the place to do it, he thought. What more could you ask for? There was a fresh water creek, tall straight pines, and plentiful beaver.
“Are we here?” Breanne asked, coming from the wagon and cheerfully looking about.
“Maybe,” Pierre said. “If not, we’re close.”
“Oh, this is beautiful!” She danced among the trees.
Luke gloried in her happiness and ran to her with a sweeping hug that took her off her feet. With that, she laughed joyously.
“We are home, Luke! We are home, at last!”
“By the looks of all the chewed stumps along the creek, there must be a beaver pond downstream,” Pierre said, taking the big bore from the wagon, then heading off to check it out. The young ones need to be left to their dreaming, he thought.
Breanne dashed to a small clearing on a rise back from the creek that caught the mid-day sun beautifully. “We could put the cabin here, Luke?”
“We could,” he said going to her. “Or, over there?” He pointed through the trees to an even bigger sunlit clearing further on, and the two of them ran to it.
“Yes,” she said, when they arrived and scrambled to a spot in the center. “The front door needs to be here, facing the water. And we could take our meals there, under the shade, when the weather is warm.” She pointed. “Oh, do you like it, Luke?”
After scanning the area for what seemed an eternity, he agreed this was the perfect location. It was undoubtedly the most serene spot he had ever been in his life, and he couldn’t wait to get started on the cabin.
“I doubt I could even dream up a better one.”
“Oh, Luke,” she went to him, “let’s spend the rest of our lives right here on this spot. We’ll have lots of kids and raise a big garden. And have a milk cow and some chickens and…”
“Hey, wait a minute,” Luke cut her short, putting an end to her elation. “We’ll only be here till the beaver run out, maybe two or three years.”
“Then where will we go?” she said disappointedly.
“Maybe further north? Maybe somewhere else? I don’t expect to be a trapper all my life, just long enough to gather enough money to try something else.”
“Like what?” she asked concernedly.
“Like raise stock, or farm like Tom and Effie Nelson.”
“Then why not do it here?”
“Because, there’s nobody to sell to. We’ll have to do that closer to some town.”
“Not back at St. Louis?” Breanne questioned.
“Never there,” Luke was quick to say, seeing sadness on her face that hadn’t been there in weeks. “But there are other places. Out west, maybe?”
“Just as long as it’s not St. Louis,” she came to him. “Or New Orleans!” She forced a smile, wishing she could see into the future to know what would become of them. Right now it was the uncertainty that disturbed her. How could one look ahead if there wasn’t a plan?
“It’ll be fine, you’ll see when it happens,” he said, taking her into his arms.
“That creek is going to make a fine swimming hole come summer,” she said and then turned up to him for a lingering kiss.
“Plenty beaver below,” Pierre said when he came into camp sometime later to find the two of them snuggling naked under the buffalo robe, after having taken a hurried bath in the icy creek. “Two, three hundred lodges at the beaver pond, a mile down creek. And there looks to be another pond below that.”
“Yippee!” Breanne yelled and dashed to the wagon for fresh flannels and buckskins to dress into. She knew Pierre never looked in her direction when she was indecent. Besides, from his stories he’d seen plenty of naked women in his lifetime, therefore one more shouldn’t render him blind.
After graining the mules and staking them by the creek, Pierre went back to the wagon and came out with a double bladed axe. Seeing that, Luke dressed quickly and went for the single blade axe. Then, after sizing up and marking several trees, they went to work, one on each side, and began chopping. By nightfall they had eighteen logs of the right length to drag into place for a start on the twelve by sixteen foot cabin, as planned.
“We’ll set traps in the morning,” Pierre announced over supper. “Check them in the evening. Work on the cabin in between. I have only enough beaver scent for twenty sets to start. But I’ll make more once we catch a few.”
Breanne still had a hard time believing it was really happening. And so soon after arriving! The cabin was going to be built. Her little home in the woods would soon be a reality. And it would be a special place for many years to come, regardless of what Luke had said. If not in reality, then at least in her heart. Nobody could take that away from her, not even Luke.
“Will there be a porch?” she asked now, since she had not been consulted in the design.
“A porch would be nice,” Luke was quick to say, feeling her tension, and he looked to Pierre.
“Have to have a porch,” Pierre said, going along after feeling it too. “Wouldn’t be a proper home without it.”
Getting her way, Breanne smiled broadly and went to pet the red horse that had wandered up close, hoping for some oats. She reached into the wagon and brought out a handful, and this brought up the paint horse for some as well. After a time, and several handfuls for each, they wouldn’t leave her alone and began nudging her about the camp, all the while with her giggling wildly.
Finally, Luke got up and shooed them away. He then took her in for a long hug. “It’ll be okay,” he whispered into her ear.
“Yes,” she responded. “It will always be okay, Luke, as long as you’re here to love me.”
“You can count on that, forever,” he said and felt the uneasiness that had suddenly come over her melt away. He wondered now what had prompted it and glanced around as if the answer may be found out there somewhere, in the woods or down by the creek.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
It was snowing the following morning when Pierre and Luke headed out to set traps at the beaver pond a mile away. Pierre was excited at the prospect of a bountiful harvest this season, which should, if the weather didn’t turn up hot early on, last at least two more months. Luke was excited as well, primarily because he was about to learn for the first time how it was done. The first few sets would be his initial education before being sent off in a different direction to locate likely spots and set traps on his own.
However, on the first set, when Pierre told Luke he needed to wade out into the frigid water to plant the trap chain stake in the deepest water possible, while the trap itself remained in only about ten inches of water, he was taken aback.
“Why?” he asked.
“Once trapped, they’ll go for what holds ‘em, and in the struggle they’ll drown. Elsewise they’ll chew off the foot that’s caught, and you’ll never see ‘em again,” Pierre said, then waited for Luke to accomplish what he had directed him to do. Once it was done, he handed him a small tree branch and told him to poke that into the mud next to the submerged trap. Lastly, Luke put a drop of beaver scent on the branch.
“The beaver will swim by, smell the bait, and stop for a look see,” Pierre explained. “Then when they step to the bottom for a closer sniff at the stick up here, the trap springs, and you got yourself a beaver.” He laughed.
This went on over and over again until noon, when they headed back to camp.
When they left that morning, Breanne was down at the creek doing laundry and draping the scrubbed and rinsed items over tree branches to dry. But, on the walk back, the two of them spotted a pair of red flannels floating down the creek. Luke splashed out and retrieved them, thinking they must have accidentally gotten away from her. When he turned back to Pierre, he was no longer there. Instead, he was spotted on a full out run for camp, big bore in hand.
Immediately, Luke dropped the flannels and struck out after him, surpassing the older, smaller man before reaching an empty camp. A quick but thorough search proved Breanne was without a doubt gone. He now questioned: why had they gone off and left her alone? He remembered asking her to come along, but he didn’t recall getting an answer. He was so excited about going…
“Injuns,” Pierre said. “Those horse eaters. They must have been dogging our trail. The mules have broken their ties and run off.”
“Looks as though there was a struggle.” Luke pointed out at a place where a scuffle had dirtied the fresh snow.
“Moccasins!” Pierre pointed, and together they followed them to the creek, where they disappeared into it.
“How many?” Luke asked.
“Can’t tell. At least two, maybe three. Someone had to hold the horses while those two went in on foot.”
Luke wasted no time in gathering the red horse, while Pierre checked for more tracks. Rather than using the small English saddle that Silas Jones had used, Luke tossed on the saddle that had been on the tongueless man’s horse. Sir Henry didn’t take well to it and danced about as Luke tightened the cinch. He did, however, use the bitless bridle the horse was accustomed to.
