Crow Mountain (22 page)

W
e left early the next morning and spent the following two weeks scouting for the Stanton railway, the five of us: you, me, Lucky, Clear Water and Rose. A more unlikely team cannot be imagined. During daylight hours, our group separated, coming back at night to Clear Water and the camp, which changed every couple of days. Sometimes, when there was work to do, I stayed behind with Clear Water and the extra horses. Lucky had acquired another two after the battle, bringing the surplus mounts to five, although you said Hart's bay gelding's mouth was ruined from bad handling, and you'd sell him on as soon as possible. I would rather have been with you but it didn't seem right to leave Clear Water on her own all the time, even though there was precious little conversation to be had.

Clear Water was, however, intuitive: she knew before I did that I was about to be inconvenienced as women are, for I had never established any reliable notion in that department. Liza my maid had said it would most likely come after I had a child of my own, as if an infant were a magic watchmaker within my body,
tick-tock
. Clear Water took great care of me and showed me, with dignity, how Indian women dealt with such indelicate issues, making me bark tea for the discomfort and wrapping a fire-warmed flat stone in a leather cloth for me to hold against my middle. She also gave me one of her and Lucky's blankets and made me a bed on the ground away from you – I found out later that native women live separately at that time.

You affected not to notice, and returned the blanket to Clear Water as we prepared to retire, ignoring both her surprise and then my over-heated and restless jolting in the night. Soon though, my time passed, and I wanted to be back on Tara. And with you. A few mornings later I came back from the river after an early start and fetched my saddle and bridle. You said nothing, just watched me tack up in silence, drinking the hot herbal tea Clear Water made each morning and smoking a cigarette.

‘Long ride today. Up to it?'

Instead of replying, I flipped the worn leather fender off my shoulder, straightening the stirrup and buckling the throat strap of Tara's plain bridle. The pack I fastened behind the saddle now contained the hide of the buffalo who had sheltered us, presented to me as a gift when we left the
Blackfoot. In the soft, thick skin were thirty-eight thumbnail-sized holes. Clear Water had spent much time and a huge effort in curing and smoking it over the past days, for which I was unable to express my gratitude. But I had asked you to thank her, and she had smiled her beautiful smile to me the previous evening.

You watched me finish. ‘Reckon we should be done by nightfall.'

I kissed Tara's nose and scratched beneath her forelock. ‘And then?'

You stood and threw out the dregs of your tea. ‘Home.'

Soon, we were leaving camp. Lucky and Rose were coming out with us, as their portion of the scouting was done. We rode due west to look at the mountain range indicated on the map in your possibles bag. You and Rose spoke occasionally, but Lucky was mainly silent. The weather was clear and bright, and far away to the north a herd of buffalo dotted the landscape. By midday, we had reached the foothills of the range. You sat, leaning back in the saddle, looking at it for what seemed like an age. You got down and kicked at the earth with your bad foot. Looking up again, you bit the inside of your cheek.

‘What do you think?' I'd let the reins slacken and Tara pointed her near-side hoof like a ballerina and scratched her nose against her leg, one side then the other.

‘Ain't nothing coming through here, blasting or no blasting.'

I thought of the Stantons' broker – the paymaster for this
job. ‘Is that what you're going to tell Mr Meard?'

‘Yep. Maybe Railroad can go further north, across the border into the British Possessions – your name for Canada – maybe further south, towards Missoula, but it ain't coming through here to Spokane.'

‘Spokane?' I asked. ‘That's where we're scouting?'

You nodded and gestured to the mountains. ‘Keep going dead west through them hills and you'll get there.'

‘How long would it take?'

You looked up at me. ‘Why, English, fancy making another run for it?'

I said nothing.

You shrugged. ‘Well, you got Tara now, and all our food, so you'd probably make it.'

Looking out at the mountains, I still said nothing.

‘Rose goes as far as Spokane sometimes. Knows the trail. Could ask her to take you,' you said slowly.

‘Stop it.'

‘Stop what?' You adjusted the red horse's bridle needlessly.

‘Trying to make me go.'

‘I thought you wanted to go. You could deliver your report to Railroad in person. Big romantic reunion. Wait, no, for a reunion you'd have to have met already.'

I could have kicked you. I might have, if the others hadn't been there. But instead I decided to play you at your own game. For it was a game, Nate, I knew you well enough by then.

I lifted my chin. ‘I cannot possibly go anywhere looking
like this. We'll have to wait until you've been paid and there's money for decent clothing and shoes.'

‘And then I'll ask Rose to take you?' You put your hand on the horn of the red horse's saddle, not looking at me.

The die was cast; we both knew it. This was my life now. You, Tara and your family, for as long as they chose to stay with us. A family that would defend me to the death, though we could not even speak to one another.

I had thought to spin out my life in West Coast drawing rooms and the society pages, yet here I was, a player on a different stage in the theatre of a new America. I looked back towards the mountains and for the first time in my life felt a profound sense of belonging.

‘Then I may think about it,' I said at last.

You hid a smile and lifted a hand to the back of your neck, as if you had been about to reach out to me and stopped yourself. Then you froze. I followed your gaze, but couldn't see what you were looking at. Lucky had though, his farseeing eyes like slits. You spoke without looking at each other. Rose turned her grey, black-freckled mare to see too.

‘See that, English?'

‘No, I don't see anything. Buffalo?'

‘Closer than the buffalo. He's here.'

There was wonder in your voice. Then I saw him.

It was a horse.
The
horse. He was beautiful: astonishingly white, heavy with muscle, a deeply crested neck, broad chest and fine conformation. His mane and tail were long, blowing in the breeze, forelock covering one eye. Before you I had
seen all horses as the same, simply a means to an end. Now I knew them for themselves: their strengths, weaknesses, and how they could show us the best of who we are. Only the wind moved on the plain as we, all five of us, watched him.

The horse of a lifetime.

You mounted up and your hand went to the coil of rope on your saddlehorn. ‘Big riding, Em. Be ready.'

I sat deeper into the saddle and waited, Tara tense beneath me. You and Lucky were talking, voices low, but not looking away from the horse. Rose was unfastening a rope from behind her saddle, slinging the loops around her neck.