Gear, W Michael - Novel 05 (45 page)

 
          
 
Richard stared quizzically at the cactus.

 
          
 
"Meat's meat. Ye got ter remember that.
Don't make no matter what the critter. Mule or mouse. Fat cow buffler is about
the best eating on the plains, but ye get into the mountains, and elk is some,
it is. Better than these hyar plains elk."

 
          
 
"Any meat?" Richard asked.
"Who'd eat a mouse?"

 
          
 
"Wal, if'n ye were starving, I reckon
ye'd eat all ye could catch. Remember, lad. Meat's meat. Even lizards and
buzz-worms."

 
          
 
"What's a buzzworm?"

 
          
 
"Rattlesnake, coon. And they's good
eating. Flaky white meat Now the Shoshoni, way out west, they even eat ants.
Collect 'em and grind 'em up on their slabs. Makes a kind of paste. I've heard
coons tell it ain't bad eating, so long's ye don't dwell on it being ants.
Grasshoppers, they's good, too."

 
          
 
"Travis, you're making me sick."

 
          
 
"Listen, coon. I ain't talking to hear my
jaw flap." Travis pointed out at the grassy plains. "Thar's a whole
big land out there. Reckon a feller that didn't know better, specially one full
of book laming, wal, he might starve ter death surrounded by all the food in
the world. He needs to use his noodle to think about the world a mite
different."

 
          
 
"But ants? Grasshoppers?"

 
          
 
"Whar's an egg come from?"

 
          
 
Richard stared at him thoughtfully. "A
chicken. They lay them."

 
          
 
"How?"

 
          
 
"Uh, well, I don't—"

 
          
 
"Right outa their assholes, coon. I hear
they's rich folks what eat fish eggs. And didn't them Pharaohs eat birds'
tongues?"

 
          
 
"I think that was Roman emperors.''

 
          
 
Travis waved it away. "One's as good as
t'other. Thing is, when it gets down to cat scratch, yer gonna do whatever it
takes ter keep yerfcelf alive. Remember that. Meat's meat. If it comes off a
critter, ye can eat it. 'Course, meat ain't everything/'

 
          
 
Travis pointed eastward. "Over than to
Cantonment
Missouri
. Reckon they had three hunnert soldiers
billeted through the winter about five years back. Most of 'em ketched the
scurvy. Reckon they had plenty of meat. Fact is, they didn't eat the lights/'

 
          
 
"Lights?" Richard frowned.
"What are the lights?"

 
          
 
"The guts, coon. Heart, liver, kidneys,
boudins. Remember that, if n yer ever getting poor in spite of eating all the
meat ye can hold. Injuns, they know. If'n the lights don't fix ye, ye need
plants. I've even seed Injuns boiling grass to make tea. Balances a man's
blood, I'm told."

 
          
 
"I've heard that lemons are carried on
ships for scurvy. Do lemons grow out here?"

 
          
 
"Don't reckon so. Plants, now, they take
a little laming. Reckon it's early, and we're a bit north fer finding pommes de
terre, but they's other things. Sunflowers, fer one. Prairie turnips, a feller
can make a meal of them. Sego lily,
Yampa
root,
blue-flower camas. I've et 'em all. Like a cross between potato and carrot.
Wild onions is everywhere. Look, reckon that's one."

 
          
 
Travis led his horse over, and used his belt
knife to lever a bulb out of the ground. He handed it to Richard, resuming his
pace. ' 'Smell her. Onion, ain't it? Thar now. Knock the dirt off'n it and eat
it. Ye'll know onion from death camas. She's always got that smell. And did ye
see how quick it was to dig that out? A feller can eat on the run."

 
          
 
"We didn't get killed by the Pawnee this
morning." Richard ate the onion thoughtfully. "Maybe you're worried
about nothing."

 
          
 
"Maybe." Travis slung his lead rope
over his shoulder and lifted his rifle, checking the priming in the pan.
"This morning, notice how I loaded the packs? Always kept a hoss atwixt me
and the Pawnee? He didn't have a clear target."

 
          
 
"You always make him walk first,"
Richard noted. "Is that so that you won't get shot in the back?"

 
          
 
"Yer laming, coon."

 
          
 
"Travis, I don't know. He's strange. But
how can you be so sure he's a bad man?"

 
          
 
"Maybe he ain't. But this hyar ain't a
Christian land. Reckon old Half Man, he ain't heard of no Good Samaritan. Now,
pay attention. If'n he makes a play, I want ye ter grab the hosses. Understand?
I'll raise the Injun, you just make sure the hosses don't bolt."

 
          
 
"Raise the Injun? I don't
understand."

 
          
 
"Kill him dead."

 
          
 
"Oh. Is that a Christian reference, as in
resurrect?''

 
          
 
"Reckon not." Travis reached in his
possibles for a twist of tobacco and cut a chew. After he had it juicing, he
asked, "What's yer job if'n the Pawnee makes trouble?"

 
          
 
"I grab the horses . .. but what if he
gets the best of you?"

 
          
 
Travis placed his twist back into his
possibles. "Then, I reckon ye'd best hope he's been a-reading that
philos'phy of yern."

 
          
 
This appears to me as clear as daylight, and I
cannot conceive from whence our philosophers can derive all The passions they
endow to natural man. Except for the basic physical necessities, which nature
herself requires, all our other needs are merely the result of habit, before
which they were not needs or of our craving. Don't crave that which we are not
in a Circumstance to know. Therefore it follows that as savage man yearns for
nothing but what he knows, and knows nothing but what he actually possesses or
can easily acquire, nothing can be so tranquil as his soul, or so resound as
his understanding.

 
          
--
Jean Jacques Rousseau, Discourse on the Origin and Foundation of Inequality
Among Mankind

 
          
 
After so many days of rain, the sun beat down
hot and bright. Travis might have found that a welcome change, but for the
muggy air that made a man's sweat just about useless. The trilling of a meadow
lark, the chirping of the finches, and the colorful wildflowers helped DO make
up for the humid heat.

 
          
 
"Warm enough fee ye." he asked
Hamilton
.

 
          
 
"I guess. After freezing for days, now
I'd give anything for a couple of clouds."

 
          
 
"Later this afternoon. Reckon the
thunderheads will come rolling in."

 
          
 
Travis never let his attention waver from
where Half Man walked ahead of them. An Indian walked differently, planted his
feet in a softer manner than a galomping, booted white man. Half Man didn't
look like much, skinny, his eyes soulless. Made a coon tigger he didn't have a
thought in his head. But a man didn't skip atwixt and atween the
Omaha
and the Pawnee—mortal enemies—without
having a heap of savvy locked in his noodle.

 
          
 
He's planning something. Knows we're
smuggling, and ifn we don't show up, thar ain't gonna be no questions asked. At
least, not by the gov'ment. Ifn I's in his moccasins, I'd be thinking to raise
Dick and me, skip off to the Pawnee, and make like a king. Pile up a heap
ofbuffler and beaver, and trade it while prices are high. Probably down to
Fort
Osage
.

 
          
 
"What are you thinking?" Hamilton
asked.

 
          
 
" 'Bout the Pawnee. I got him figgered as
far as the whiskey's concerned. What I ain't got figgered is when he's a gonna
strike."

 
          
 
Richard made a face.

 
          
 
"Still don't believe this child, do
ye?"

 
          
 
Richard's thin face looked pensive. 'Travis, I
can understand him wanting to steal our things. But unless we give him cause,
he doesn't have any reason to kill us."

 
          
 
"Coup, Dick. I explained that to ye.
Honor as a warrior."

 
          
 
"Such concepts of honor are
irrational."

 
          
 
"Tell them soldiers they pin all them
medals on."

 
          
 
Richard frowned as he walked, eyes on the
grass.

 
          
 
"Best larn to watch around, Dick.
Feller's got ter see everything. Front and back, up and down. Trouble can come
on ye from any direction. Thar's times that seeing a danger first means ye can
avoid it altogether."

 
          
 
"I was just thinking." Richard wiped
sweat from his forehead. The distant trees were shimmering in the light, and
delicate butterflies fluttered in the hot air. The sweet smell of grass seemed
to grow stronger with the heat.

 
          
 
"Yep, locked in yer Doodle noodle. Last
thing ye'll be wondering about is how that arrow come ter be sticking through
yer guts."

 
          
 
"They just shoot people. Without any
warning?"

 
          
 
Travis gave the young man a twinkling grin.
"Reckon they's plumb rational about it."

 
          
 
They walked along in silence, and to Travis's
relief,
Hamilton
had started to look around.

 
          
 
"See the deer over ter the trees? Two
does, still as can be."

 
          
 
"Nope."

 
          
 
"Right yonder, down under the branches of
that hazel. Just ahint that patch of daisy flowers."

 
          
 
"No, I don't Wait. Yes! I see them—or I
think I do.

 
          
 
How in God's name did you see them over
there?"

 
          
 
"Got ter train yer eye, Dick. It's in the
outlines, the way the light sits. Work at her, and ye'll larn."

 
          
 
Finally Richard asked, "What happened to
your face? The scars, I mean. A fight? Indians?"

 
          
 
"Old Ephraim. He done it."

 
          
 
"You've talked about him before. Is he an
Indian?"

 
          
 
"Waugh! He be the white bear, the
grizzly!" Travis pointed at his face. "Time this happened, we's
working our way west, outa
Fort
Benton
. Made her clear ter the
Great Falls
of the
Missouri
. I was walking up ahead, scouting like, ye
see. That's Blackfoot country, so a child's got ter be slick, see them red
bastards afore they can sneak up on ye.

 
          
 
"Wal, thar I be, a-sneaking through these
sarvisberry bushes, and lo, Old Ephraim just rared up outa a hole and whacked
my rifle away. He grabbed aholt of me, and it was Katy bar the door! Pressed
down like I was in them bushes, I couldn't hardly move. He bounced on me, but
the bushes gave, ye see. Didn't crush my lights out. Then he took a swipe with
his paw. That's what took my cheek and nose, and made these hyar scars that run
round me ear. At the smell of blood, he started ter chew my head up. That's
what made these hyar scars running up through my hair. Pilgrim, I reckon ye've
never lived till ye hears bear teeth a-sliding along yer skull."

 
          
 
Richard blinked as if in disbelief. "How
. . . how did you survive? I mean . . . Good Lord!"

 
          
 
"Davey Green heard my screams and come
a-running. He saw the bear, but couldn't see me. Davey, he ups his shooter and
drives a galena pill inter Old Ephraim's lights. Then Davey dives in with his
knife.

 
          
 
"At the sound of the shot, Old Ephraim
turns, and swats Davey half across the berry patch. Plumb knocked him cold, and
woulda busted him up, but for the bushes breaking his fall. Then Keemle, Immel,
and Jones runs up. Wal, Old Ephraim, he sees all this and roars. He's still
a-standing on me, mind. Keemle up and shoots," Travis chuckled.
"Funny thing. I was looking up at that bear's head. Big as the world, it
was. I saw that pill hit him. Took him square in the nose. I felt that bear
jerk and damn me if n it ain't true, but I knew what he's a-thinking."

 
          
 
"You did?"

 
          
 
"Yep. Don't know the why of it, but we
might a been a-sharing minds. He knew he's hit plumb center. That ball had
busted up his nose and cracked his skull. And way down deep in that bear's soul,
I felt the rage as he charged out to take old Keemle down with him. 'Course,
afore he got thar, Jones shot him through the shoulder, and busted him down.
Then Immel busted his neck with another shot."

 
          
 
"What about you?"

 
          
 
"Ain't much ter tell after that. Reckon
all the excitement was over, and the real hurting started. They put me in a
pirogue and sent me back down ter the fort. Dave Green went along, took care of
me. Sewed up all the loose pieces he could find. Reckon Old Ephraim woulda kilt
me but for Green running up ter give him something else ter think of."

 
          
 
"And Keemle, Immel, and Jones?"

 
          
 
"Ah, Keemle's printing the paper down ter
Saint Loowee. Immel and Jones . . . they gone under. Blackfoots caught 'em a
couple of years back." Travis smiled sadly, voice dropping. "And I'da
been with 'em that day. They's under a bluff on the Yellerstone. Blackfoots
wiped out the whole shitaree." The old wound in his soul opened again.
"Makes a coon wonder, Dick. I was the scout—the keen devil ter slip on ahead.
Now, if'n I'd a been thar—instead of a-laying flat on me back in Fort
Benton—would I a smelt out that Blackfoot trap? Would I a saved them coons? Or
would I be a-laying up thar, topknot gone, and all turned to bones?"

 
          
 
Hamilton had a funny depth to his eyes as he
said, "Perhaps God saved you for a reason. If Isaac Newton is right, the
universe is predetermined. Maybe God used the bear to save you for the express
purpose of torturing me." A faint smile bent his boyish lips.

 
          
 
Travis chuckled. "Hell, Doodle, ye ain't
worth the torturing. Now, skin yer eyes and keep a watch on that sneaky Pawnee
fer a while. Hyar, notice the way he walks, how his feet mashes the grass. See?
From the pattern, ye can figger which direction he's a-going."

 
          
 
"What did Immle and Jones do to make the
Blackfeet so mad, Travis?"

 
          
 
"Nothing. Blackfoots is just poison,
coon. That's all thar is to it. They done declared war on whites, and by God,
they'll fight her out."

 
          
 
"Well, were Immel and Jones going up to
fight them?"

 
          
 
"Tarnation, no! Child, ain't none of us
interested in fighting. Wal, 'cept maybe fer some fools like the British. Ye
cain't never trust a Britisher no more than a Blackfoot, or a Ree. No, it was
like this. Manuel Lisa died of the fever down to Saint Loowee. Joshua Pilcher,
he took over the Missouri Fur Company. He and Lisa had been palavering about
setting up a post to trade with the Blackfoot. Figgered, just like yer a-doing,
that with the right presents, and a peaceful delegation, they could open that
country up. Hell, we didn't want no war with the Blackfoots! A feller cain't
trade fer plews when he's being shot at. Rational, eh?"