The Travels of Jaimie McPheeters (Arbor House Library of Contemporary Americana) (35 page)

We had come abreast the little shop, noisy and jammed, where they sold whiskey, when out rolled two or three Indians and a couple of white men, and I opened my mouth, because they were John and Shep, but Shep stepped up to Coulter, as brash as you please, and sung out, very sneery:

“Well, if ain’t my old friend and neighbor, Buck Coulter!”

I’d never seen Coulter look so. He looked sick. But he stood his ground, though not with any feist in him, while Jennie and Po-Povi and I and some others sort of washed back to give them room. All right, Mr. Baggott, I thought, this is where you get what’s coming. There won’t be enough left to shovel up and carry outside for the coyotes.

“Now what might you be doing out here?” said Baggott. “Come to try your hand with a bow and arrer?” This seemed to strike him as funny, for he gave a rude laugh before going on. “What’s the dodge, Buck?”

“No dodge,” replied Coulter very low, glancing around uneasily, as if he’d prefer to conduct this conversation in private.

None of us could believe it.

“Speak up, Buck. You don’t act very friendly to your old boyhood chum. It ain’t genteel. Cat got your tongue?”

Coulter took off his hat and wiped his forehead with his sleeve.

“Let’s get a drink.”

“I don’t like to drink when I’ve got to face a party all the time. It’s galling to the nerves.”

Coulter started to turn away, but Shep called out, “Don’t tell me you’ve got yourself a train, Buck. Have you writ home lately? Maybe you ought to tell these people about your brother. Where you going, Buck? Why, I’ve never seed you so jumpy.”

He bellowed out his laugh as Coulter lurched past us and, shouldering aside some Indians, through the gate. I felt so low I could
have crawled off and cried. I noticed that those of our men who were nearby looked grim and shook their heads. I reckon we’d come to think of Coulter as a kind of hero, no matter how raspy he was, and now he’d turned tail before a drunken bully like the meanest sneak and coward.

I could see tears in Jennie’s eyes; then Shep saw her, too. He took in the rest of us for the first time. A little of his bluster faded off—you couldn’t deny that, but he cried, “Well, what are
you
aiming to do? You won’t find any law out here.”

Jennie blazed right out: “Wait and see, you bloodthirsty beast. We’ll have you tarred and feathered and ridden out of this Fort.
Doctor! Doctor!”
and taking Po-Povi’s hand, she started running toward the offices across the court.

“Come on, you noisy blabbermouth,” said John, speaking up at last. He took Shep by the arm and dragged him aside, but before they left he wheeled back to me.

“Look here, boy, I wouldn’t advise you to make trouble, you hear? It might be onhealthy.”

I’d be a liar if I said they didn’t scare me; I’d seen them do murder, and a poor, young wife and her husband laid out on the ground with their guts out; but I had my slingshot with me, and lots of people were about. What’s more, I hated those monsters more than I ever hated anybody before. I almost got insane with it when I saw them, and didn’t altogether make sense.

“Shut up,” I yelled. “I’ll do what I please, you dirty scum. My father and Buck Coulter’ll see you hung before we leave here.” And then I did something I’d never seen anybody do, except the Pawnees. It just seemed to come natural. I stepped forward and spit in John’s face. It refreshed me a good deal.

“Why, you damned imp—” he broke out, reaching toward his belt, but I jumped back and yanked out my slingshot and fitted a smooth round rock to it that I’d been saving in my pocket, and hit him, thud, directly over the right eye. The rock hung there a second, then dropped. He fell forward on his face in the dust like an old tobacco shed crashing down.

I didn’t wait around any longer, then. I took to my heels as fast as I could go, and a minute later found where my father and the others were. I was shaking all over and had flecks of saliva, dry and cottony, in the corners of my mouth. It was the first time in my life I’d ever tried to kill somebody, and I didn’t feel so good.

Two or three of our men that were right behind me started telling about it, and between them and me, and Jennie raising the roof, there was a rumpus in that office, you bet. Everybody was shouting at once, and crying, some of the women, and asking questions, but above it all that Captain Cooper, a tall, thin, gray-eyed man with a very sallow face—no red in it anywhere—raised his voice, perfectly steady and firm, and folks calmed down a little. Some people can do that as natural as breathing; you can’t learn it; it’s born in them. A nearsighted idiot could have spotted this Captain Cooper for a leader a mile off. His manner wasn’t stern, but you wouldn’t have taken any more liberties with him than you would with a loaded rifle.

“It’s a ticklish situation,” he said, after my father had snatched down a musket from a rack and shoved it over to Kissel. “There isn’t any civil law here, neither is the Fort to say under outright military rule. What’s more, we’re surrounded by thousands of Sioux warriors that let renegade carrion, like Baggott and Murrel, live among them peaceably—in effect under their protection. I assure you of my sincere desire to help, but we must proceed with extreme caution.”

My father wrote down in his Journals what Captain Cooper said, which was that “the Rocky Mountains have their white as well as their copper-colored population. I would estimate the former as from five hundred to a thousand, scattered among the Indians, and inhabiting, temporarily, the various trading posts of the fur companies. Adventure, romance, avarice, misanthropy, and sometimes social outlawry play their part in enticing or driving these persons into this savage wilderness. After taking up their abode here, they rarely return to civilized life for long. They usually contract ties with the Indians that are sufficiently strong to induce their return, if
they occasionally visit the settlements. Many have Indian wives and large families. Polygamy is not uncommon. They conform to savage customs, and on account of their superior intelligence have much influence over the Indians, frequently directing their movements and policy in peace and war.”

“Captain,” cried my father when he’d finished, “something’s got to be done! We can’t let those scoundrels get off scot-free. Why, they barricaded up the entire family of this child here”—he laid his hand on Jennie’s shoulder—“and burned them alive in a cabin.”

“Sir, we’ll do our best. If we can persuade them from the hands of the Sioux without a commotion, I’ll return them to St. Louis under guard, no matter what the legality of it. That much I promise. Mr. Chouteau’s reputation is well known out here, and his correspondent, Bridger, is a personal friend of mine.”

Well, we all agreed that this was as handsome as anyone could wish, so we trailed back to our wagons, with some of us, including my father and the Kissels and Coe and the Brices, accepting an invitation to dinner that evening in the Fort. On the way, we talked about Coulter’s odd actions, but nobody could think of anything handy to say. It cast a damper over us all.

When we reached the train, people were standing around in little knots and clusters, and sure enough, they were discussing the trouble, too. Coulter was nowhere to be seen. The general opinion, as people got the whole story, was that he had neglected to do his duty in protecting the train. I heard some angry mutters about throwing him out, and there were others that wanted to haul him before a “summary court.”

My father and Mr. Coe soothed them down for now, but there was a lot of determination to bring matters to a head. I can tell you truly, I wasn’t much looking forward to tomorrow.

Toward twilight, the Kissels bundled the children in their wagon and made arrangements with neighbors to check them once in a while. Then we went to the Fort and had dinner. Mr. Cooper was there, and Monseer Burdeau, and other gentlemen of the American Fur Company. It was mannery and elegant, with wine that had
been carted clear across the plains. I’d a had a glass except that Jennie reached over and took it away. It wasn’t her wine, it wasn’t her dinner, it was none of her business in any way, but she had to shove her nose in just the same. Marriage didn’t seem to have straightened her out.

“Your boy, ma’am?” inquired one of the guests, a man wearing a frilly white shirt with sideburns, and Jennie answered back, very tart, “No, I didn’t have any babies when I was seven, thank you for asking.”

The food was an improvement over what we’d been eating, but it was cooked pretty careless, not like Mrs. Kissel’s, which had
flavor.
No matter what she cooked, it had flavor. She could have made a stew out of cactus and rocks, and nobody would have had any grounds for complaint. Still, she never seemed satisfied; nothing turned out right, according to her. The bread generally had a “sad streak,” things fell that were supposed to rise; if she reached for the salt, it turned out to be sugar; and she never really got a good “do” on anything, to hear her tell it.

My father stated that this was the usual dissatisfaction of the artist. “It takes two men to paint a picture,” he said. “One to do the job, and another to stop him when it’s finished. My advice to you is, if Mrs. Kissel gives evidence of satisfaction, sprint, don’t walk, for the stomach pills.”

Anyhow, here tonight we had boiled corned beef, cold biscuits, fresh buffalo meat, venison, salt beef, and milk. It was a regular feast, because they’d got in some flour, after being without it for upwards of six weeks.

“We eat what we can get,” said Captain Cooper. “After a while it doesn’t seem to make much diff—What’s that?”

All of us heard it—a whoop from outside somewhere, more of a scream than a shout. The men scrambled up, some taking the pains to excuse themselves, and we ran out. The night was coal-black, but in the direction of our wagons the sky was aglow with red. It was scary-looking; fire always is. It’s a sight I’ll never get used to. It knots up your stomach.

When we reached the gate, we could see greasy yellow smoke boiling against the red, and outside, we heard a babble of people yelling and running, wagons being moved, horses rearing and neighing, and men bawling directions.

By the time we got there it was over. Nothing remained of Kissel’s wagon but a skeleton, where the iron parts held it together. The furnishings and household truck were no more than pieces of char, black and ruined.

Then we heard Mrs. Kissel cry, “My babies! my babies!” and I almost sunk through the ground. All four of those children were in that wagon while we had dinner, with only the neighbor to check.

She tried to charge into the middle of the smoke, but her husband grabbed her and held her, lifting her up, kicking, and turning her away from the ruins. It was enough to make you sick.

Then I heard a man cry, “Doctor, over here, doctor!” and I scrambled my way through some people to where they had something laid out on the ground. It was a welcome sight, I can tell you. Propped up in a row, making a noise which came pretty close to drowning everything else out, were Deuteronomy, Leviticus, Micah and Lamentations, and sitting beside them on the grass, his head almost between his legs, as two women and a man tore away burning pieces of cloth, was Coulter.

“He did it all himself,” one of the women called up to Mrs. Kissel. “He went after them, two at a time, and brought them out, and now look at him.”

Coulter was a sight. Nearly all of his black hair had burned off, his forehead was cracked and purple, he hadn’t any more eyelashes than a snake, what little clothing was left still smoked, and his hands were dripping blood. I probably shouldn’t mention it, but his pants were so far gone that he was completely exposed, you might say. And with a man the size of Coulter, he was more exposed than most. But nobody appeared to mind or take any notice. Then a soldier from the Fort covered his lower half with a blanket.

Mrs. Kissel knelt down amongst her brood and swept them all together at once, and Mr. Kissel leaned over beside Coulter.

“Can you hear me, Coulter?”

Coulter raised his head a little, trying to look up.

“Is that you, Kissel?”

Everything was quiet; the people wanted to hear what was said, but some of the women were taking on a little, and two or three men, including my father, blew their noses.

“You’d better call the roll,” Coulter told him. “I think I counted four altogether.”

“Coulter,” said Matt, “you’re more of a man than any ten in this train. The next one raises his voice or hand against you”—he turned and looked around slowly—“is going to have me to whip.”

Coulter gave a dry kind of chuckle that ended in a cough; then he said, “I wouldn’t envy him, I sure wouldn’t.”

My father and Dr. Merton walked forward now and took over. They, and others, picked Coulter up and made to carry him to the Brices’ wagon, but Captain Cooper stepped up and said, “I’d be pleased if you’d take him to my apartment.”

I saw Jennie’s pale face watching as they carried him away. I figured maybe she thought she was even at last for all the rowing they had done; she always seemed to hate him so.

When they were gone, we got the story. That neighbor woman, Mrs. Hughes, had looked into the wagon the second time when, on the way back to her own, she noticed two men, one old and lank and gray-haired, the other an oversized, red-faced hulk, picking their way up the train, inspecting the wagons as they went. She saw them particular, for they appeared shifty and spoke in low whispers.

Ten minutes later, she heard a cry of “Fire! fire!” but when she and her husband and others went running, the Kissels’ wagon was already roaring.

Coulter, horseback, arrived a few seconds later. He took the news
on the run, then spun himself off the saddle and right through the burning canvas.

Everybody stood talking, and one of the men who was so outspoken against him before, said, “It was the bravest act I ever witnessed. Speaking for myself, I’m mortal ashamed I backbit him to begin with. A man ort to withhold judgment till he’s sure.”

That seemed to be the sentiment all around. There wasn’t any harm in these people; they were only average. Most of their bad thoughts came out of fear, and to tell the truth, that’s what causes most of the troubles in the world.