The First Mountain Man (31 page)

Book Three

1

O beautiful for spacious skies,
For amber waves of grain,
For purple mountain majesties
Above the fruited plain!
America! America!
God shed His grace on thee
And crown thy good with brotherhood,
From sea to shining sea!

 

“We're gonna have about two and a half days of fairly easy travel,” Preacher told Swift and a few others, after they broke for lunch. “Then you got to lighten the wagons. And I mean discard everything that ain't absolutely necessary. The folks ain't gonna like it, I know that, but it has to be. You think goin' through the South Pass of the Rockies was bad, wait 'til you see Hood and what's all around it.”

Swift nodded. “I'll tell them.”

“Don't just tell them. Stand right there until they do it. We're a-fixin' to go straight up and then straight down, half the time right into a bog, and we'll be doin' it over and over and over agin. Most beautifulest and gawd-awfulest country you ever will see. Start shakin' down the movers, Swift.”

On the second day after crossing the river, the train came to a series of hills, long steep hills. That night, the movers began throwing possessions away in earnest. There was a lot of crying and fussing over many things that were being dumped by the trail, but in the end, the wagons were lightened considerably.

Preacher told them to stay in camp the next day and dump some more out of the wagons. “You just don't know what you're a-fixin' to get into, folks. But I do. You'll kill them oxen tryin' to get all this crap over the trail. The mules will just not move once they figure out they can't pull it. Dump more, people. Get busy. Lighten them wagons.”

“Is it really this bad, Preacher?” Richard asked. “The people are very upset.”

“I can't make it sound as bad as it really is,” Preacher told him. “It don't make me feel like no big man makin' folks throw away things I know they toted what must seem like halfway around the world. But it's either that, or they break down or their oxen dies in the middle of the Cascades and they walk out with nothin'. Think about that.”

“All right, Preacher,” the missionary said, reluctance in his voice.

“Richard, have the movers wash their wagons to get all the dried mud off. You'd be surprised how much weight is just ahangin' on them wagons.”

“Yes. You're right. Of course.”

Preacher found the lady who was keeping a journal of her adventures and asked her if she was still keepin' her notes up. She assured him that she certainly was. “Well, ma'am, I hope you got lots of paper and ink and quills,” he told her. “'Cause you shore got a lot of scratchin' and scribblin' to do over the next month or so.”

She smiled at him. “Would you like to see what I have written about you, Mister Preacher?”

“No, ma'am!” Preacher's reply was quick. “This trip's been de-pressin' enough without my doin' that.”

* * *

The movers hit a dense forest of pine, fir, and redwood. Many of the redwood soared several hundred feet into the air. On the first day after entering the Cascades, the wagon train traveled only three miles. The movers fell into their blankets and went to sleep exhausted after a day of cutting and dragging trees out of the way. The trail they hacked out of the wilderness was a narrow one, just wide enough for a single wagon. Fallen trees had to be dragged out of the way, huge rocks and jutting roots had to be first hacked at and then dug out. The only graze for the livestock was swamp grass. Preacher warned them that only a few miles further they would encounter laurel, and that if the livestock ate it, they would die.

Lowering wagons down mountain sides by snubbing ropes to trees became commonplace for these pioneers, and they were all working harder than they ever had in their lives. They no longer asked themselves if it was worth it. They were afraid of what their answer might be.

Mothers put ropes around the waists of their children and led them single file, to prevent a small child from running into the thick tangle of vegetation that grew all around them. Any child lost in there would more than likely stay lost—forever.

They worked their way up hill more than a half a mile high, and then half a mile down the other side. That took a full day of brutally hard work, both for humans and animals. Slipping and sliding and cussing. Most went to their blankets without even eating the evening meal. They were too exhausted to eat.

“By now,” Beartooth said, “I reckon Red Hand and Bum will know that we didn't come crost the Columbia and they'll be hard on followin' the trial we're blazin'.”

Preacher nodded his head in agreement and accepted a cup of coffee from Nighthawk. “Won't do 'em no good.” He smiled and winked at his old friend. “You know where we are, don't you, Bear?”

“Tell the truth, I ain't rightly sure.”

“Five more days and we'll hit the valley.”

Beartooth stared hard at his friend. Then the huge mountain man's face brightened under his beard and his eyes twinkled. “By the Lord, we've done the impossible, Preacher.”

“Looks that way, ol' hoss.”

“You goin' to tell the movers?” Jim asked.

“No. I do that, and they'll get all anxious and in a hurry and somebody will get hurt in haste. We've made better time than I figured we would. I got to hand it to these folks. They got grit, I'll give 'em that.”

“I got me a hunch that when they cross the last ridge and stand lookin' down into the valley, they'll give up any plans of goin' north crost the Columbia and just settle right there,” Dupre said. “I know a little somethin' 'bout farmin', and that's good land for it. Damn shore rains enough,” he added.

“We'll be hittin' that in a couple of days, I figure,” Preacher said. “But the worst is behind us.”

“What you gonna do when we get these pilgrims to the promised land?” Beartooth asked him.

“Loaf for a couple of days, then head back East to the mountains. I got me a little task to do.”

“And what might that be, Preacher?” Dupre asked.

Beartooth, Jim, and Nighthawk all grinned at one another.

“I got me a score to settle with a feller name Bum and an Injun named Red Hand. You boys can come along if you like.”

“Well, my goodness gracious!” Beartooth said. “Thankee kindly for the in-vite. I allow as to how I might just do that. How 'bout you boys?”

“I wouldn't miss it for the world,” Jim said.

“I'd feel left out by not goin' along. How 'bout you Nighthawk?”

“Ummm!”

* * *

Many of the rogue Indians that had joined Red Hand had now left him. It was obvious to all that Preacher had tricked them and taken the southern route across the Cascades. Even the most stupid among them knew that to attempt to follow would amount to naught. By the time they recrossed the river and picked up the trail of the wagon train, the movers would be across the mountains and into the valley. To attack a wagon train that close to the fort would be very foolhardy.

Even many of Red Hand's own band had given up in disgust and headed back to more familiar ground. Bum's band of trash and outlaws had shrunk to about twenty-five.

On a cool early autumn morning, Bum watched as Red Hand and his people saddled up and broke camp. He walked over to the renegade.

“Givin' up?” the outlaw asked.

“There will be another time,” the Indian said. “To pursue now would be pointless. We ride back east.”

“Mind if me and my boys ride with you?”

“Do as you wish.” He swung into the saddle. “We will cross the river just north of where the Snake flows.” He turned his pony's head and rode off.

Bum walked back to where his men lay on the ground. Leo tossed a stick into the fire and said, “No women, no gold, no nothin'.”

“It ain't over yet,” Bum said, then smiled.

“Whut you grinnin' 'bout?” one of his men asked him.

“Well, I'll just tell you,” Bum said, sitting down and pouring a cup of coffee. “It come to me whilst I was talkin' with Red Hand. Seedy, didn't you tell me you'd been to Fort Vancouver recent?”

“Only about six months ago.”

“And the brand new buildin' for the missionary's church was not in the fort?”

“Oh, no. It's a good three, four miles from there. They built it a-purpose there so's the Injuns would feel better 'bout comin' in to it.”

Bum sipped his coffee and chuckled. “Bustin' our butts for nothin'. That's what we been doin'.”

“Whut you mean?” Leo asked, scooting closer to Bum.

“Them folks in the wagon train don't know us. How could they? They ain't never seen us. Don't nobody at the fort know us. It stands to reason that them women missionaries and the gold is gonna be at the church. Seedy said the livin' quarters was in the rear of the buildin'. It's three, four miles from the fort. All alone, ain't it, Seedy?”

“You bet.”

“Preacher and them sorry friends of hisn is sure to be hell-firin' back toward us to finish this fight,” Bum said with a grin. “All we got to do is be a little careful and just head straight west from here and then cut south. You boys see what I'm gettin' at?”

“Kind of,” Jack Harris said. “But ain't that sort of risky? If we're thinkin' along the same lines, that is.”

“Not really. We can go in and grab the gold and the women and be gone hours 'fore anybody discovers the bodies. Far as that goes, we can kill some damn Injuns and chuck their bodies in there and burn the place down. Who'd know the difference?”

“I like that,” Beckman said. “We could grab us a couple of young squaws, hump 'em 'til we're ready to go, and then kill 'em.”

“Good idea,” Bum said. “They's lots of fall berries now and the squaws'll be out pickin' 'em to make pemmican. Should be easy to grab a couple young ones. But we're gonna have to be real quiet about it and when the deed is done, we're gonna have to move fast and far. And we're gonna have to be careful about which tribe the squaws belong to.”

“Amen to that,” Slug said. “I damn shore don't want no Digger woman.”

“That wasn't what I meant!” Bum admonished him.

“Oh,” Slug said.

“When do we ride?” Waller asked.

“Let's give Red Hand and his boys a couple of hours to get clear away. We can be breakin' camp and packin' up now, just in case that damn renegade left someone behind to snoop and spy on us.”

“What did you mean?” Slug asked.

“Oh, forget it, Slug!” Bum said.

“Which would you rather have on you trail, Slug?” Jack asked. “A peaceful Injun, or a Blackfoot?”

“Oh!” Slug said. “Right.”

* * *

Preacher rode slowly back to the wagon train. He had not told any of them that on that day, they would be done with the mountains and looking out over the huge valley that lay south of the Columbia. They had reached the promised land.

Despite the fact that most of the movers considered him to be a sarcastic, heartless, and sour man—Preacher was none of those things—he was proud of this bunch of pilgrims. They had done what no one, to the best of his knowledge, had ever done. And he knew that all of them with the exception of Wade and his two-bit kid, Avery, would be bigger and better people for the trip. Preacher knew, too, that not all of them would survive out here.

Injuns would get a few, the fever would take a few more, accidents and other mishaps would claim still a few more. But those that would live could be proud of what they'd done.

And speaking of Avery and his pa ...

The father had gotten all up in Preacher's face just the day before, after Preacher had raised his voice and fussed at the young man for being a laggard, which he certainly was. Lazy no-count pup. The father said when they crossed the mountains, he was gonna put a butt-whipping on Preacher that the mountain man would never forget. So Preacher knew that he was gonna have to stomp on Wade some.

Preacher was looking forward to it. He'd had a belly full of the man. No dancing this time around.

Preacher rode through the timber, figuring the movers had about five hundred more yards to go 'fore they broke free and could stand on the plateau that overlooked the valley. He carefully tucked his smile away.

Beartooth winked at him when he rode back to the train. “Gonna tell 'em?”

“Not just yet.” He looked up at the sky. Not even noon yet. He looked at a man leaning on his axe and looking at him. Preacher was not well-liked and he was well aware of that fact. It bothered him not a whit. “You figure on that tree maybe fallin' down all on its own, Brewer?” he asked cheerfully.

The mover gave him a dirty look and went back to chopping.

Preacher rode up to Melody. “Come on,” he told her. “I want to show you something. Richard, you and Edmond and Penelope come along.”

Preacher stopped them just before timber's edge.

“This is it?” Penelope asked, looking around her. “This is the same thing we've been seeing for weeks.”

“Y'all ride out there on that flat and take a good look. Go on. I'll wait here.”

Preacher stepped out of the saddle, eased the cinch on Hammer, and squatted down, chewing on a blade of grass.

“Yeeee-haw!”
he heard Richard shout.

“Waa-hoo!”
Edmond momentarily forgot his churchly bearing.

A mover rode up, his long rifle at the ready. “My God, is it the red savages?”