The Devil's Paintbox (11 page)

wim! Come on—swim hard.”

Aiden couldn't hear the shouts from the distant river-bank. He only felt the force of the current as it dragged him downstream. His leg smacked against a submerged rock, but he was so numb with cold he didn't feel any pain.

“He'll never make it,” William Buck said.

“I'll bet he does; he's almost there,” the widower said.

“Hell, I'll go one dollar says he drowns altogether!” Buck offered.

Aiden couldn't hear the bets being placed on him either, only the roar of water. He struggled to get his head up for a breath. The rope around his waist was the lightest they'd been able to find, but still dug into him. He was supposed to wave his arms if he wanted hauling back, but if he stopped swimming long enough to wave he'd be sucked right to the bottom. Jackson had said that in twenty years of crossings he had never seen the Arikaree River this high and fast. No ox or mule could make it across. A horse might, but if it got swept away, no number of men could haul it back. Though nobody said it exactly, Aiden knew a horse was far more valuable than he was. But if he got this first rope across, they could pull more ropes over, then send other men across. Once they had enough men and ropes on both sides, they would take the wheels off the wagons and float them over one by one. Mules, cows and oxen would all be tugged
across. It would take two days, but it had to be done. Otherwise, they could be stuck here waiting for the water to go down. “And that could be days,” Jackson had explained. “This is the lowest point in Colorado.” It was only a few days’ delay that had slowed the infamous Donner party in 1846. Even twenty years later, no one journeying west ever forgot. A few slow days and bad detours got the party trapped in the mountains for winter. Half died, and the rest ate the bodies to survive.

But now Aiden was getting close to shore. He could smell the grass! The toes of one foot hit some oozy mud, and Aiden struggled to get his feet under him. The rope was now so heavy it was like having a barn door tied around him. He dragged on for another few steps when the bottom of the river suddenly vanished again and hard, witchy hands grabbed his legs. He tried to kick free but couldn't move. He realized he had been washed into a sunken tree stump and was snared fast in the roots. The rope dug so tightly into his back that he thought he might be cut in two. He fumbled with the knot, but it was too tight to untie. He pushed at the stump with his feet and leveraged his head up to catch another breath. But then, with a sickening, slushy feeling, his foot plunged through the waterlogged roots and the current tugged him deeper. He was trapped fast and completely underwater.

Everything became strangely slow. He saw sky rippling through the water above. It had never seemed so blue. A short burst of bubbles escaped his lungs and twinkled up like little silver bells. Then the world began to dim. He pressed his face toward that distant sky but could not break the surface. He was only inches short, but he might as well have been on the bottom of the ocean.

His lungs burned, but he began to feel peaceful and warm. Then suddenly the sky vanished. A face appeared. It was a dark, rough face with long black hair—an Indian! Aiden saw a huge knife in the man's teeth. A large hand plunged through the water and grabbed his hair. Aiden saw the silver knife blade flash above him as the Indian thrust it down, straight toward his heart. He felt the hard blade press against his chest. He felt the steel sliding down his ribs. The world went dark and soft. Shouldn't he think of God, or something important, as he was about to die? Shouldn't he think of Maddy? But the only thing he could think of was the way a grasshopper smelled when you cooked it, with all the bubbling juice coming out around the neck. Then, in one great gasp, the last of his air bubbled out and the world went black.

ext thing Aiden knew, he was lying facedown on the riverbank. He coughed, and water poured out of his mouth and nose. He rolled over on his back and saw the Indian standing over him. Without thinking, he kicked up hard as he could, right between the man's legs. The Indian howled with pain and crumpled to the ground. Aiden rolled away and tried to stand, but the world spun upside down and he was flat on his back. His head was filled with a buzzing sound, as if the earth itself were humming. When the buzz finally cleared, Aiden realized what the noise was: laughter. Confused, he pulled himself up on his elbow. He saw three Indians. One was curled up on the ground holding his crotch, roaring with pain, but the other two were roaring with laughter. Aiden coughed again and slowly sat up.

One of the Indians, an older man, perhaps sixty, stood knee-deep in the river by the twisting roots of the submerged tree stump that had snared Aiden. He was holding the end of the rope. The loop that had been tied around Aiden was neatly cut. The old man laughed even as he strained to hold the rope against the current, then he shouted to the others in some incomprehensible language. The youngest of the three, who looked about Aiden's own age, jumped up to help. Together they dragged the heavy rope a few yards upstream and wrapped it around the tree Aiden had been trying to reach.
Then the younger Indian sprang back to Aiden's side and squatted down beside him.

“Your eyes are big as the moon!” he said, grinning. “You think we scalp you!” He made slashing motions toward Aiden's head.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Hisemtuksots, but I am called Tupic.”

“What—” Aiden coughed out more water. “What are you doing here?”

“What are
you
doing here?”

“Crossing the river.”

“Bad place to cross river.”

“I think I know that now,” he said, feeling more embarrassed than scared.

Tupic pointed downriver. “Ten miles that way you can cross.”

“Well, fine.” Aiden spat out some dirt and wiped his mouth. “But no little bird came along and told us that, did it?”

“So we come instead,” Tupic replied, ignoring the sarcasm. The older Indian squatted beside them and held out a blanket.

“Why you swim river?” he asked.

“To carry the first rope over,” Aiden said. “So we could pull the wagons across.” The man shook his head, then spoke rapidly to Tupic in their language.

“No—” Tupic interpreted. “Clever Crow asks why
you?
Why not a strong man?”

“I am strong!”

“He says you look like a horse just born—skinny and stick legs.” Aiden started to get angry but then realized they
were probably right. Even though he had filled out in the past two months, his limbs were still spindly. Tupic was quite a bit shorter than he was, perhaps five foot four, but more muscular. His skin was a smooth coppery brown and his eyes a darker brown. The sides of his hair were braided but the rest was a loose black mane that hung to the middle of his shoulders.

“So why are you the one to swim across?” Tupic asked.

“I know how to swim,” Aiden said. “None of the other men do.” Tupic translated this. The Indian he had called Clever Crow laughed.

“How you know?” he said.

“How? I learned as a boy.”

“No,” Tupic explained. “He means how do you know the others can't swim!” Aiden felt his face go hot. As if he weren't already embarrassed enough.

“Here, Wet Pony.” Clever Crow's voice was kind as he shook out the blanket. “You cold.” Aiden wrapped it around his bare shoulders, as eager to hide his scrawny chest as to get warm.

“What is your name?” Tupic asked.

“Sorry. Aiden Lynch.” Aiden held out his hand, then pulled it back a little, unsure whether Indians shook hands.

“Please to meet you,” Tupic said with a hint of what might have been mock formality, and shook Aiden's hand. “This man is my uncle. In English he is called Clever Crow, and the one you kicked is his son, my cousin. His name is Silent Wolf.”

Clever Crow interrupted with some rapid talk and both he and Tupic laughed.

“Clever Crow says today Silent Wolf has a new name,”
Tupic explained. “Now we call him—well, the translation is ‘one whose balls are bruised like soft fruits carried a long time in a saddlebag.’ “

Silent Wolf, still lying in a wounded curl, yelled harshly back at them.

“What did he say?”

“He says that we should all go, ah—I'm not sure I know your words for it. It is a rude thing.”

“I bet it is.” Aiden looked warily at the man, who was now slowly getting to his feet. He was probably in his early twenties, taller than the others, and stockier too. He had a long scar down the side of his face and wide, ropey scars on both arms.

“Tell him I'm sorry I kicked him,” Aiden said. “I didn't know he was trying to help me.” Tupic shouted a translation at the moaning man. Silent Wolf just scowled.

“How come you speak English?” Aiden asked.

“Missionary school.”

“Stand up now,” Clever Crow said. “You people worry.” He waved toward the opposite riverbank. “Show you— good.”

“Yes—of course.” Aiden stumbled to his feet, his legs still numb with cold. He saw Jackson and the others standing by the bank. He couldn't make out their expressions, but there was a definite wave of relief as he raised his arm. He cupped his hands around his mouth.

“Can you hear me?” he shouted.

“Yes!” Aiden heard Jackson's faint reply.

“Tell them to walk west,” Tupic said to Aiden. “Even with rope, the water is too fast here. We show you a place.”

“There is a good crossing west of here!” Aiden shouted.

“You sure?” Jackson yelled back. “You got it right?”

“Yes!” Aiden called. “They speak English.”

The three Indians spoke quickly among themselves, then Tupic said, “Your head man knows farther down should not be good. But this year, there is so much water, the river spills over the bank, carves out new place. Once it is fast, deep river, now becomes easy two rivers.”

That was an awful lot of explanation to shout across the river. Clever Crow said something more to Tupic and waved toward Jackson. Tupic nodded.

“We are Nimipu,” Tupic shouted to Jackson. “Nez Perce.”

Jackson was clearly relieved.

“Oh!
Tack mee-wee!”
he shouted.
“Mana wee!”

Clever Crow shouted what sounded like a similar greeting, then made some signs, sweeping his palms toward his chest, then pointing downriver. That seemed to settle everything, for Jackson tipped his hat in agreement, then turned and began to shoo the travelers back to their wagons.

“You come with us,” Tupic said. “We meet them tomorrow at the crossing place.”

Aiden hesitated. He had no boots, no shirt, nothing on but his pants. But he wasn't about to swim back, even if they pulled him across on the rope. His arms and legs were still burning from the cold water.

“My horse will carry two,” Tupic said. “She is young and strong.” The Indians had four ponies: the three they rode and one with packs. They were beautiful animals, smaller than Jackson's two horses but strong and well proportioned, with gleaming coats and spots all over their hind ends. They stamped and whinnied, eager to be off. The only things
Aiden had ever ridden before were farm mules and the family's old mare, who, when she was really motivated, sometimes broke into a slow trot. Tupic grabbed hold of his pony's mane and swung himself easily into the saddle, then leaned down and held out his hand to Aiden.