Gone West (9 page)

“We’ve shoved off, Ma! We’re floating now! Can you feel it?”

“Yes.” Maggie tried to control the quaver in her voice. “Yes, I certainly do feel it.” It was a strange sort of a floating sensation, the wagon swaying and complaining in ways it was unused to. It made her feel completely out of control. The trail might be hard, but at least it kept her feet firmly on the solid earth.

“Long time since we’ve been on the water, Ma. Remember when we crossed the Mississippi after Nauvoo? Just after Charley was born, that was, and Pa expecting a posse from Carthage on our backs the whole time ‘cause we’d consorted with the Mormon doctor, or maybe even a posse of Mormons on account of the press.” His forehead wrinkled a moment at the thought of two posses potentially after them before he leaped ahead. “ ‘Course, the ferry was considerable bigger there, almost like a real boat. Then there was the one on the Missouri, before we got to wintering in Independence~”

“You remember all that, Jamie?”

He was insulted. “It was only last year, Ma!”

Maggie smiled. “You’re so right. I forget what a young man you’re becoming. Especially since your last birthday.” She forced herself to peek through the arched canvas opening ahead of them. They were approaching the shore at an angle. It must be the currents. But the far bank did seem to be coming closer. They might even be halfway across. “There will be many more rivers to ford on this trip, Jamie, but I doubt any of them will be as deep as this.”

“I know, and they’ve got nice names, too.
The Platte. The Snake
. Imagine naming a river
snake
.” He chuckled, and ventured another look through the side flap. “Ma! I can see Dickens and Miss Sally! They’re swimming for all they’re worth, and don’t look too happy. And there’s Brandy and Duke coming up. Buster is way over to the side. Looks like he might land a fair piece downstream. Can’t see Checkers or the rest, though. Gosh, aren’t we going to have a time rounding them all up when Pa follows us!”

Maggie gave her son a hug. He was getting her across, not the other way around. She stared through the side opening with him. She could see the tobacco-chewing Pappan leaning into his pole from his perch in the canoe. His hairless chest was glossy with sweat and spray, and glistened a fine bronze in the sun. He was worth the six dollars and change.

Almost before she realized it, they were bumping softly into the far bank. The ferrymen were hooking them to teams of oxen to pull them up the slope, through the quarter mile of sandy flats to solid land and the waiting wagons of the train beyond. Maggie sent a heartfelt `Thank you’ to the heavens.

By the time their wagon was settled with the others Johnny would be almost across with the caravan. She wouldn’t even think about his following the Butlers downstream.

Everyone still fording the river made it. Then there was the stock to catch. Johnny took off with the other men after their animals. The women used the time and the river to catch up on their washing. By dark each white-top was covered with freshly laundered clothing and linens, spread out to catch the breezes. Maggie had the children asleep when Johnny finally returned with the last of the oxen. He tethered them to graze and wearily stopped at his own hearth, accepting the coffee and food she’d kept warming for him.

“It’s rice for a change. I thought you might like it. I fried it with wild onions and a little bacon. Has it gotten too dry?”

He offered a smile through his full mouth and swallowed. “Ambrosial.”

“Johnny. Your father always used to say that.” Maggie felt tears welling up at the sudden memory of the old man. The day had been too long. She brushed at her eyes. The obvious could no longer be ignored.

“What happened to the Butlers, Johnny?”

He reached for his cup and tasted the coffee.

“Tell me, Johnny. I’m twenty. A full grown woman. I can take it.”

“I never promised the trip would be easy, Meg. Thank the Lord the Butler family was all spared. Cold and wet, but spared. Their wagon and all their belongings were finished, though. The heavy stuff just sank to the bottom of the river. The rest floated off, the wagon splintered in pieces. When we found them, they were on the other side of the river, their animals to this side. We had to drive the beasts back again when the Butlers refused another crossing. Two of the oxen didn’t make it.” He paused, remembering.

“Seems one of the beasts was a particular pet of the children. It was the final straw. The whole lot of youngsters just broke down in tears, and their mother, too.”

Johnny made an effort to finish the story with as little emotion as possible. Maggie knew it was not from a lack of feeling, just his way of trying to deal with it.

“The men took up a collection. We got enough to get them back to Independence and maybe a little beyond. They should make it fast, unfettered by the wagon. Last I saw they were walking toward the East, mighty chastened.” He picked up his spoon again.

Maggie watched him studiously eat. It could have been her family. Or the Hardistys or the Krellers. There would be no singing in the camp tonight.

Maggie saw their first Indians three mornings later. There were two of them, lounging on their ponies on a small rise overlooking the camp.

She froze.

Tame Indians in Independence were one thing. Half breeds, like the Pappas brothers at the Kansas River crossing were another. But
real, wild
Indians! Beyond the territorial United States, in the middle of nowhere, her calmness evaporated. She turned tail and rushed back into the wagon.

“Johnny!”

Johnny was blearily pulling braces over his shoulders, trying to dress without waking the children.

Maggie lowered her voice.

“Johnny!”

She pointed outdoors. He caught the expression on her face, picked up his boots and followed.

“On the rise, through the mist. Look.”

He looked. The Indians were carrying muskets, and their bearing was insolent as they watched the camp come alive before them. Johnny pulled on his boots.

“I’m going after Chandler. You might as well get on with the breakfast. There are only two of them, so they can’t mean us harm.”

Maggie started in on her chores, but felt a constant prickle rising and descending through her spine. She suddenly understood how Sam had felt about his unexplained footprints, footprints which had turned up a third time. To be spied on secretly must be even worse. Far worse. At least these Indians would present their demands openly when they were good and ready.

She turned around with feigned nonchalance to give the two men another glance. They were carrying their firearms in a peculiar, cautionary way, the breech held in the right hand and the barrel resting on the left, as if at any moment they would be raised and fired. The thought did not ease her. Neither did their headdress. They were shaven almost bald, with stiff tufts of hair rising from the nape of the neck to the forehead like cock’s combs.

Something came back to Maggie. Her friend Flower Blossom, back in Independence, had been a Kansas Indian, and Flower Blossom’s husband Black Raven had worn a headdress like this the one time they’d met. These men must be Kansas, or
Caw
. And everyone knew that was a friendly tribe, practically civilized. She ventured another peek at the two. They didn’t look civilized at this moment.

Maggie got the fire going. Smoke drifting past her face, she stood and watched as a small delegation approached the braves: Captain Chandler and Johnny, Max Kreller and Sam, along with several other men. She held her breath while both Indians raised their right arms to the approaching men. Charlotte chose that moment to let out a roar of hunger. Maggie remained transfixed, trying to follow the unfolding scene until Jamie climbed out of the wagon, rubbing his eyes.

“Charley’s awful hungry, Ma. She woke me up.” Then he saw what she was watching.

“Injuns! Real ones! Gosh!”

Before she could grab him by his shirtails, Jamie was gone, racing barefoot through the camp. At least he had the sense to stop at the edge and wait with the growing crowd of spectators. Maggie went after her squalling baby.

The morning’s start was delayed by the Indian visit. Johnny had finally returned to his own campfire and was downing his breakfast with excitement.

“We got to see some natural Indians at last! It means we’re getting into interesting territory. I can’t wait till we get beyond the Caw’s lands, though!”

Maggie could wait with pleasure, but wasn’t about to drench Johnny’s enthusiasm. He’d been talking Indians to her since he’d been old enough to understand Rousseau’s essays on the `truly natural man’. Not that Rousseau had ever set foot out of Europe to see one of his specimens.
Emile
had been pure fantasy.

“What did they come for, Johnny?”

“One of them had no flint for his gun. He wanted one. Chandler says they probably slipped it out on purpose, to get another, but we scrounged up a flint nonetheless.”

Jamie was crouched next to Johnny and his mother, listened to the story avidly.

“Then they signified that they wanted something to put in their cook pans. So we bribed ‘em with a chunk of bacon and a little flour for their leathern bags and they left.”

“Was that all?”

“Everything. Except for the initial
How, How
.” He gulped down another bite of his pan-fried bread. “Chandler figures they’re just checking us out. He says we ought to start camping in a circle of wagons from here out. And post lookouts, too. We’ll have to get up some volunteers. Stock starts disappearing oppressingly often from this point on.”

“From this point until when, Johnny?”

Johnny smiled at Maggie’s wail. “ ‘Til about the end of the line.”

“Oh, Johnny, haven’t you seen enough of the elephant yet?”

“
What
elephant?” Jamie wanted to know. “I thought elephants only grew in darkest Africa.”

Johnny grinned. “It’s a figure of speech, son. A way of talking about new, unseen wonders a person’s got a hankering for.”

“I’d sure be able to work up a hankering to see a real elephant, Pa.”

“You’re going to have to settle on real Indians and buffalo, Jamie.” Johnny reached for his son’s head and tousled it. “Although I did see a real elephant once.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Not much older than you I was. My pa took me to see it, when we were wintering in New York one year. He paid a whole quarter to get me in for the sight. He called it a `necessary educational expense’. It was quite an impressive creature, but I’ll warrant it won’t hold a candle to a herd of buffalo.”

Jamie was a little miffed at having missed the elephant opportunity. “That remains to be seen, Pa.”

Johnny got up. “What needs to be seen now is the stock. Grab a bridle and help me collect Dickens and Miss Sally. They’re growing fat and lazy with all this good green grass. We’ll have to take the time to give them a workout soon.”

Maggie began cleaning up after the meal, Indians, elephants and buffalo floating through her head. What an extraordinary world it was, after all.

Johnny had a chance to exercise Dickens sooner than he anticipated. It was midafternoon when a cry rose from the head of the train and travelled quickly through its length.

“Elk! Elk!”

“Broiled Steaks!”

“Ribs!”

“Fresh meat!”

Maggie raised her eyes through the haze. There was a definite dark cloud, a moving one, off to the north of the train. Farther West was another dark area, more spread out, but stationary. She fervently prayed it were a copse of trees. Their need for firewood was acute. They hadn’t yet come into buffalo country. The buffalo that would give them the chips Johnny had mentioned as fuel for most of their journey . . .

“Jamie!” Johnny was yelling for their son. The boy bounded out of nowhere and went to relieve his father. In a moment, Johnny was trotting towards Maggie.

“Did you hear that, Meg? Did you see?”

She smiled at his excitement. “Elk meat would be welcome, Johnny.”

He hardly stopped. “Got to get my gun. Got to talk to Chandler. Get a hunting party up. I’ll be back.”

Maggie doggedly kept the oxen advancing. It looked like the women and children were going to have to keep the train going. She glanced behind her. Irish had handed his whip to Gwen and was feverishly trying to saddle and bridle a horse. The menfolk were reacting the same way all up and down the line, except for Sam. He had no one to relieve him, so he continued to plod along as steadily as the women, untouched by the commotion.

Johnny was galloping back, astride Dickens. “Make for that grove of trees up ahead, Meg. We’re going to camp down early today for the hunt. Chandler says it’s the Big Vermillion Creek, with the last stand of real hardwood we’re likely to see in a while. You women will have to set up camp on this side. Get Jamie to collect as much wood as he can while I’m gone.”