Bendigo Shafter (1979) (2 page)

Webb will fight. I have a feeling you can count on him, too. He's a mean, cantankerous man, but come fightin' time, he'll be around.

You are right, I am thinking. You keep shy of that man, Bendigo. He's dangerous.

He rode away then, and as I worked I gave thought to what he had said and began to gather the sense of it. There was a temper in Webb that flared sudden and often. At first I had thought him only a sullen, disagreeable man, but as the days passed on the westward way I saw him change. He took no pushing, and when somebody moved toward him he pushed back ... hard.

The westward way had a different effect on folks, and many of them grew in size and gathered in spirit. John Sampson was such a man. Back home in the States he had been the village handyman, and nobody paid much mind to what he thought about anything. He did his work and he took his pay, and that was the sum of it. Folks turned to teachers, ministers, storekeepers, and bankers for opinions.

But once you got out away from home on a wagon train, a minister or a banker wasn't much help; a handyman could keep your wagon rolling. Time and again, on the trip west, Sampson helped folks out of trouble, and finally they began to ask his advice on things. When they got it, it was good advice.

When we crossed the Mississippi and rolled out over the grass lands some folks were scared of the size of it all. Miles of grass stretched on all sides, the vast bowl of the sky was overhead, and there were a few who turned around and ran for home, their tails between their legs. There were others, like John Sampson, who began to grow and to take big steps in the land.

Webb grew, too, but in another way. There had always been a streak of violence in him, but fear of public opinion and fear of the law had toned it down. Now a body could see the restraint falling away. Nobody had a reason to cross him, so all had gone smoothly so far, but Ethan Sackett had read him aright.

The work was hard, but none of us had led easy lives, and we buckled down to it. John Sampson and Cain were the first to start their cabins after I began on Mrs. Macken's place. Neely, he sat on his wagon tongue talking to Tom Croft about what fools they had been to stop. Webb sat listening for a spell, and then he went to whetting his axe.

Come noontime he was close to catching up with Sampson. My eyes kept going to the hills, and my ears reached out for sound; we lived with fear.

This was a savage land, a lonely land, yet here the foundations of our homes would be laid, and here we would sink the roots of our lives. Here, for some of us, our children would be born.

We accepted the danger but took no unnecessary risk. It is a fool who invites trouble, a child who is reckless, for life holds risks enough without reaching out for more.

There would be cold, there would be hunger, there would be snow, and no doubt before spring brought life to the plains again we would suffer hardship. We had not enough food to last a long winter, and when our cabins were built the hunting and the cutting of wood must begin.

A day passed and then another. Three or four times each day I went up the slope, then scaled the sheer white cliff above it, finding several ways a man could climb easily and swiftly, almost as though steps were built for him. Each time I scanned the country for Indians, and also to know the country. In my mind I measured the steps to the next creek, to the tall, lightning-scarred pine, to the swell of ground.

In a blinding snowstorm or the dark of night such knowledge might mean the difference between life and death, and later when I could walk the ground I would know it better.

John Sampson and Cain were placing their cabins so the ends could be joined by a palisade. Stuart and Croft were building opposite them and Webb a bit further along, yet all could be joined by a wall or the wagons to make a fortress of sorts.

Stuart came up the hill to watch me work. She's crazy, he said, to build so far from us.

There was something in what he said, for her house would be all of a hundred yards from the others, and such isolation could be dangerous. Yet I knew she built for tomorrow, and she accepted the risks. But I, who must do the building, planned the house strong and true. The logs I chose were thick and heavy, and I fitted them snugly together. There would be no chinking in this cabin, for I worked each log smooth with a broadaxe and adze, and laid them face to face. Eighteen inches thick at bottom was each wall, tapering to twelve under the eaves, and the fireplace was built of stones artfully chosen.

On the fourth day Ethan Sackett came down from the hill and took up an axe and worked beside me. He was a strong, lithe man, easy with his strength, and he handled an axe well. He worked with me an hour or more, then went down the hill and worked with John Sampson, who was the oldest among us.

Twice during the week he brought in game. The first time it was two antelopes. Not the best of eating, he said, but it is fresh meat.

The second time it was a deer that dressed out at nearly two hundred pounds. He cut it well and passed it around, leaving some meat at each fire.

Tom Croft, who was a good worker when he put his back into it, stayed on the job better than Neely Stuart, who was forever finding something else that needed doing to keep him from work. He'd be going to the bucket for a drink, or talking to his wife.

And then it began to snow.

Chapter
2

When the first flakes fell I was up on the ridge cutting poles for the roof, which was half-finished. I'd paused a moment to catch my wind, and when the first flake touched my cheek. I felt a chill of fear.

By now the passes to the west were closed, and the way to the east was long. We were trapped in this lonely place, building our town. The winter would be cold, hard, and long, and we were ill-prepared to face it.

Flakes sifted down by twos and threes, then faster and still faster. Bunching my poles I threw a half-hitch on one end and a timber hitch on the other and started the team back along the slope.

From the ridge where I'd been cutting I could see the shape of our town. Cain and John Sampson had left off working each on his own and were roofing Cain's house, with Ethan passing poles up to Sampson. Mrs. Sampson was hustling bedding from her wagon into the cabin.

Ruth Macken's cabin was a worrisome distance from the others but had the finest site.

Smoke was lifting from Cain's house, the first inside fire in town. I could see the women-folks and youngsters coming in from gathering sticks. Sampson was only a shadow through the snow, still working on the roof.

When I got the poles to the cabin I climbed up on the roof, and Bud handed the poles up to me. One by one I laid the poles in place, forming the temporary roof that would keep the Mackens warm until spring came when we could add a solid plank roof. When the last pole was in place I came down, and we started pitching dirt on the roof to seal it tight.

Ruth Macken went inside and started a fire, and when she returned to the door Ethan was there to help her move her bedding inside. She had brought her husband's favorite chair, knocked down and packed flat, and a chest of drawers she said came from the old country.

When I saw the books she carried I looked at them wishfully. I had never owned a book, nor had the chance to read but four or five, although I'd read those carefully and often.

Of a sudden there was a pounding of hoofs, and Ethan turned sharply around, his gun half-drawn under his buckskin shirt.

It was Neely Stuart. He leaned from his horse, trying to peer into the door. Is Mae here? She went out with the little Shafter girl and Lenny Sampson.

They were over in the creek bottom when I was cuttin' poles atop the ridge. They should be back by now.

A gust whipped snow into our faces and there was a moan in the wind. For a moment the wind caught our breath and we could not speak.

Come on! Neery said. We'll roust out everbody and hunt for them.

You go out there with a lot of tenderfeet, Ethan said, and you'll lose some of them.

Who asked you? Neely shouted. That's my sister out there!

Ethan was in no way put out by Neely's anger. How much experience have you had in blizzards, Stuart? A man can lose himself in fifty yards, and judging by the sound of the wind, this one will be pretty bad.

Ethan's right, I admitted. You can't even see the other houses now.

You coming or not?

We're coming, Ethan said. He turned to Ruth Macken. You'll be all right, ma'am?

Bud's here, and we've some unpacking to do and a meal to get. When you come back, come to supper. I'll have some hot soup waiting.

We rode down to town, unable to talk for the wind blowing our words down our throats, yet we thought of what was to come: not one of us was fixed for winter.

It was amazing the way the snow piled up. In the few minutes it had been falling there were two to three inches on the level, and it was starting to drift against the north side of the cabins.

Neely had reached Cain's house ahead of us, and when we came through the door accompanied by a gust of blown snow he was talking. ... if that Sackett opens his mouth in here, I'll ...

Whatever it is you'll do, Ethan said mildly, you'd better save it until later. We've got to find those youngsters before they freeze to death.

You stay out of this! Stuart shouted. He turned on the others. Scatter out and hunt for them!

Ethan squatted on his heels against the wall. You'd be wanderin blind in the snow. You start seven men out in a storm like this and some of them aren't comin' back. You've got women-folks will need you before spring comes.

Neely started to shout, but Cain stopped him with a gesture. What did you have in mind?

Bendigo here, he saw those young uns down along the creek, and if they were doin' what I figure, they never saw that storm comin'.

He turned his eyes to Cain Shafter. I should do the hunting because I know this country better than anybody here, and there ain't anybody going to mind if I don't come back. I'd like Bendigo if he'd care to come along.

What about me? Webb demanded. I grew up in snow country. I seen a sight of it.

You're welcome. I spoke of Bendigo because he's single and he's steady. Doesn't fly off the handle. A blizzard in this country is nothing to play around with.

While you sit here talking those youngsters are freezing! Neely's voice shook with anger. Don't you try to tell me what to do! I'm ...

All right. Where do you figure to look?

Out there! Neely flung a wide arm.

Big country. Ethan got to his feet. Better take it slow. You get warmed up and you start to sweat. The first time you slow down or stop to rest the sweat will freeze, and you'll be wearing a thin coat of ice next your skin.

You think they stayed with the creek? Cain asked.

Sure. There's hawthorn along the creek, and my guess is they found some late berries hanging. Sometimes they stay on until January, and the first day here I rode down there and saw the bushes heavy with them. Those young uns are hungry for sweet, and it's there, so they probably just went on from bush to bush. When they realized it was snowing heavy they probably stayed right there, knowing we'd come for them.

Ordinarily that would be good thinking, but knowing how flighty Mae Stuart was, I couldn't see her using that much judgment. Mae was sixteen and pretty, but mighty notional. She'd put up her hair about a year back, and she was flouncy, feeling her oats, like. She'd been making eyes at men-folks since she was shy of thirteen and was getting to where she wanted to do something about it.

Ann Shafter, Cain's oldest, was only ten. Lenny Sampson, although a bright youngster, was six.

Bendigo, Webb, an' me will go over to where the brush thins out and work north from there.

Neely, if you're bound and determined to go, you and Cain can cross to the upper creek and work back. We'd best search every clump of brush. They'll not hear yelling in this wind.

He looked around. The rest of you stay put, and don't leave the house for any reason at all. He was listening to the wind. In this weather a man shouldn't get fifty feet from shelter.

Ethan had shortened his distance from fifty yards to fifty feet, and when we stepped outside I could understand why. At the door he paused to say one more thing.

If we don't find those youngsters by the time we meet up, then we'd best all come in. Then Bendigo and me will go out.

It's a long time until spring, and if anybody can be spared it's us. There's more to be considered than those youngsters out there.

We went afoot and it was cold. No use for horses in that kind of weather, not where we had to look, down in the brush where it was a tangle of deadfalls.

A time or two I'd seen blizzards, but nothing like this. The wind came down off the mountain like there was nothing between us and the North Pole. The snow no longer fell in flakes but in frozen particles that stung the skin like blown needles.

Even walking across the wind it was hard to catch a breath, but we tucked our chins behind our collars and breathed through the merest slit of a mouth.

When we reached the stream at the foot of the cliff it was a relief. The trees were mountain alder, clumps of quaking aspen, willow, hawthorn, and an occasional spruce.