Gear, W Michael - Novel 05 (39 page)

 
          
 
"Come on." Trudeau reached down and
pulled Richard to his feet. "Back to work, mon ami. Now we 'ave to make up
what the boat lost when the bank collapsed."

 
          
 
Richard managed to lock his wobbling legs, and
wipe the muck from his wet face. "I... we almost died back there!"

 
          
 
"Then come, enfant. The sooner you are
back to work, the sooner you will 'ave the chance to die again, no? But next
time when the bank collapse, swim out, eh? No sense to rush to death. It find
you quick enough."

 
          
 
Richard swallowed hard and followed the engage
down the passe avant. Until he died, he'd relive that moment of the ground
tilting, falling out from under him. What kind of insanity was this?

 
          
 
Order has gone from the world. I live only in
chaos, and await the approach of death.

 
          
 
Men braced themselves on poles, holding the
keelboat against the current as the plank was dropped to the bank. One by one,
the engages trotted across, passing the dripping cordelle from hand to hand. It
unspooled from the coil on the deck with uncanny grace, a thing alive.

 
          
 
Trudeau beckoned and Richard nerved himself to
step onto the plank. By some lucky streak, he didn't tumble into the ugly brown
current again, but found his place. Rain stippled the water pooled in their pocked
tracks. His fingers wrapped around the cordelle. He placed each foot in the
marks left by Toussaint's big feet, taking the weight of the rope and boat.

 
          
 
The endless agony resumed. He only recognized
where the bank had collapsed by the reduced number of footprints in that place.
Half the morning lost. Five miles that day instead of ten.

 
          
 
Pure insight, therefore, is the simple
ultimate being undifferentiated within itself, and at the same time the
universal achievement and result, and a universal possession of all. In this
simple spiritual substance self-consciousness gives itself and maintains for
itself in every object the sense of this, its own individual being, or of
action, just as conversely the individuality of the self-consciousness is there
identical with itself and the universal.

 
          
 
This pure insight is, then, the spirit that
calls to every consciousness: be for yourselves what you are all essentially in
yourselves— rational.

 
          
 
—Georg Friedrich Wilhelm Hegel, Phenomenology
of Mind

 
          
 
Travis Hartman wound through the cottonwoods
and green ash, a heavy whitetail buck slung over his shoulders. The first taint
of woodsmoke came to his nostrils. Camp was right where he'd expected it to
be—in the flats, just north of the mouth of the
Kansas River
.

 
          
 
Hartman had run his rifle through the buck's
tied legs and used it as an aid to carry the deer. Now he adjusted his hold,
his hand protectively over the pan to keep it dry. Rain continued to fall in
wind-whipped fits and starts.

 
          
 
"Reckon a frog would drown in this,"
he muttered to the heedless deer.

 
          
 
Looking back, he could see where his heavy
steps had broken the wet grass. Water trickled from the fringes on his pants
and soaked moccasins. Fortunately, the prickly pear didn't grow in the taller
floodplain grasses. Out in the prairie, however, the thorns would find their
way through his water-logged moccasins and make travel hell.

 
          
 
As he passed through the last of the trees, he
could see the Maria looking somber in the gray twilight, her deck and cargo box
water-slick. On shore the engages huddled about smoky fires, blankets propped
overhead to keep them merely miserable instead of rain-sopped. Green's tent had
a hunched look, the dark canvas sagging.

 
          
 
''Hello the camp!" Hartman bellowed. At
his words, heads popped out to stare. "Whar in Hob's Hell are the
sentries?"

 
          
 
Trudeau called back, "In this rain?"

 
          
 
"Hell, pilgrim! Yer in
Kansas
country. Never know what them weasels is up
ter. Git two men out, and not lessen a hunert paces from camp. Them Kansa
braves would have yer topknot before ye'd even have time ter whistle!"

 
          
 
Trudeau turned, barking orders.

 
          
 
Green poked his head out of the tent flap.
"Trudeau! Devil take you, I told you to put out guards."

 
          
 
"Oui, booshway. I make the order. No one
listen."

 
          
 
Hartman dropped his deer beside a fire, slid
his rifle out, and strode up to the gathering engages. He stopped before
Trudeau, staring at the man through slitted eyes. "Reckon yer not up ter
the job?"

 
          
 
Trudeau's eyes lowered. "It will not
happen again."

 
          
 
Travis remained motionless, water dripping.
"I reckon not, coon. If'n it do, I'll have yer ears."

 
          
 
Trudeau nodded and backed away.

 
          
 
"What's the news?" Green called,
refusing to step out into the rain.

 
          
 
Hartman stuck a thumb toward the deer.
"Thar's dinner.

 
          
 
Cut 'er up." Then he walked to Green's
tent. "How do, Davey?"

 
          
 
The booshway grinned. "Crossed the
Kansas
. According to the calendar, tomorrow's May
first. We're just about on schedule. Sometime this year, the government wants
to build an agency right here at the Kawsmouth. I'm thankfully glad we beat
them."

 
          
 
Hartman ducked into the tent, owl-eyed in the
darkness. Henri, hunched on a whiskey keg, nodded. A small fold-up table stood
in the back, on it a ledger book, quill, and ink.

 
          
 
"See anything?" Green asked
anxiously. "Any chance of a Kansa raiding party? Osages?"

 
          
 
Hartman wrung out his beard and long hair,
water trickling onto the trampled grass. "Nary a sign older than a month.
I reckon so long's the storm holds, we're going ter sail right on past without
a lick of trouble."

 
          
 
Green rubbed a hand over his blocky face and
indicated a second keg. Travis settled himself gratefully, noting the drawn
look in Dave's eyes. The endless worry was eating at him, tightening the
corners of his lips, lining his forehead.

 
          
 
"I've heard the Kansa are keeping
themselves up country. Letting the traders take the risk of traveling.
Iowa
, Oto, Sauk, and Fox are too powerful. The
Sioux and Pawnee have taken to raiding them pretty hard."

 
          
 
Hartman grunted, straightening his legs.
"Osages are pounding them, too. Heard tell that most of the tribes are
heading inland as soon as they get the corn planted. The buffalo are gonna be
running good—lessen, of course, this rain moves them out west."

 
          
 
"The demand for hides is
increasing." Green smiled happily, pointing at his ledger. "When we
get to the Big Horn, we can obtain winter hides. They're worth a sight
more."

 
          
 
Hartman slipped his pipe from his possibles,
emptied a bit of tobacco into it, and stared at it thoughtfully.

 
          
 
"I will light it for you," Henri
said, rising. "You 'ave come far enough today, yes?"

 
          
 
"Hit her plumb center. Many thanks,
Henri."

 
          
 
The patroon took the pipe and stepped out.

 
          
 
Hartman glanced up as Green sat on the other
keg. "Anything happen?"

 
          
 
Green spread his hands. "Bank caved in
yesterday. Damn near drowned the Doodle. Toussaint pulled him out. We lost a
couple of hours. This morning a big drift of embarras came corkscrewing down
the channel. Had a couple of raw moments, but Henri steered us right through
it, slicker than eggs through a hen."

 
          
 
"He's a good man."

 
          
 
The patroon reentered, Hartman's pipe smoking.

 
          
 
Travis took it and puffed contentedly.
"So
Hamilton
come close to being fish bait?"

 
          
 
Green arched an eyebrow as Henri crouched on
his heels.

 
          
 
"That kid might make it after all,"
Green admitted. "Each day he gets better at the job. He's still got that
look of surefire disaster, but he hasn't collapsed yet."

 
          
 
"It'd help if'n he had an outfit."
Travis inspected the glowing bowl of his pipe. "How'n hell do ye expect
him to get fit if'n he's out freezing his arse off?"

 
          
 
"I suppose." Green rubbed his hands
together. "I've got an old leather coat in the cargo box. It's lying on
the flour kegs."

 
          
 
"I'll give it to him." Travis took
another puff. "What about
Fort
Atkinson
? Ye given any thought to that little
problem?"

 
          
 
Green nodded. "Think you could go in?
Maybe barter for a string of horses? Let's say we drop you two days downriver
from the fort; you could cut wide around the fort, rendezvous with us two days
upriver?"

 
          
 
"I could skin that cat." Travis
paused. "
Hamilton
might cause trouble. Might see that fort as the answer to all his
prayers. Reckon it wouldn't do fer him ter jump ship. Whatever officer's in
charge might listen to his story."

 
          
 
Green took a deep breath. "He could put a
stop to us right quick. It's a wonder he hasn't made a break yet."

 
          
 
"Yep, wal, he's a bit a-feared of the
country. Yankee's sure some bear's gonna eat his lights. 'Course, it might do
the pilgrim good ter see a sight of country. Maybe so I'll take him with me.
If'n he's packing whiskey, he sure ain't a gonna be telling no tales to
soldiers."

 
          
 
Green frowned, then met Travis's gaze.
"If you get in a scrape, he'd be more hinder than help. Another thing
you'd have to keep your eye on."

 
          
 
Travis shrugged.

 
          
 
"Oh, hell," Green relented. 'Take
him. Good riddance. I won't have to worry about Trudeau breaking his
neck."

 
          
 
"Trudeau riding him?"

 
          
 
"No more than you'd expect. The engages
don't like him much. Think he's a weakling puke. Not worth the wad in a
shotgun."

 
          
 
"But old Toussaint pulled him out'n the
river?"

 
          
 
"Toussaint's a curious sort."

 
          
 
"That he be. If n he warn't so moody, I'd
set him in charge of the engages. Catch him in the wrong mood, and he might try
me. Trudeau, now, he knows he ain't up ter my kind of trouble."

 
          
 
"Not many men are, Travis." Green
sighed. "Lord knows, just having you aboard has saved us a heap of trouble
as it is."

 
          
 
Travis puffed his pipe cold, knocking the
dottle onto the wet floor, and stood. "All right, I'll go find Dick a
coat. How's them boots of his?"

 
          
 
"About to fall apart."