Gear, W Michael - Novel 05 (27 page)

 
          
 
And then she remembered a story she'd been
told once. Wolf—in the Pawnee legends—was killed just after the Creation.
Because of Wolf's death, men, too, must eventually die. Yes, and the willow was
Wolf's tree, the one that symbolized death in the Pawnee ceremonials.

 
          
 
"You are a wild woman," Packrat
signed with irritation. "Don't tell me your Snake people stories. I do not
believe them."

 
          
 
"Do you know that star?" Willow
pointed to the southwestern sky. "That is the star in my dreams." As
well as the star that the Pawnee associated with death.

 
          
 
Packrat followed the way her finger pointed.
He glanced at her and narrowed his eyes. His hands flew as he told her,
"You are a foolish woman. Now, roll over. I'm going to bind your
hands."

 
          
 
The lines at the corners of his eyes had gone
tight Like a small thorn in the flesh, it would fester, work on his confidence.
She gave a harsh laugh as she rolled over, submitting her wrists to his thong.

 
          
 
After he had finished, he dropped her buffalo
robe atop her and settled himself by the fire, his own robe draping his
shoulders. He yawned, head nodding.

 
          
 
The howl of the wolf carried again on the
quiet night

 
          
 
Teetering on the verge of sleep, Willow opened
her eyes to a slit For long moments the tired boy stared up at the Wolf
star—the Death star of Pawnee legend. Then he growled something to himself,
shook his head, and lay back on the sandy soil.

 
          
 
Think about it, boy. Dream about it.

 
          
 
Images of captivity played through Willow's
mind. What would it be like? She'd be beaten by the boy's father to teach her
submission and to break her spirit One wasn't a slave without being beaten on
occasion. She'd have to spread her legs to any man who wanted her. And at that
thought, she glanced again at the young man who slept just across from her.
This night he was too tired to think of it. Soon, however, he would take her.

 
          
 
And when he does, Willow? Fighting him would
prove useless. He'd simply beat her until she couldn't resist. Better to save
her strength, perhaps lull his suspicions. As young and inexperienced as he
seemed, he might make a mistake, leave himself open. Men often lost their wits
when it came to driving their we’an into a woman. And, after all, it wouldn't
be the first time a man had pumped his seed into her. It will be unpleasant,
girl — but nothing you can't endure.

 
          
 
And for that, she would have to prepare
herself.

 
          
 
The wolf howled again, and
Willow
heard Packrat stir uneasily.

 
          
 
Despite the night's chill and rain, the
morning proved warm and bright as Maria coasted slowly along the west bank of
the river. Travis sat with his back to the mast, alternately dozing, honing his
skinning knife, and checking his possibles: personal effects like tobacco,
needle-and-thread, gun flints and spare springs, whetstone, and so on. He'd
made many of these journeys upriver, usually as one of the sweating engages,
never lying around like a lazy turtle on the cargo box, sunning himself. Behind
him, Dave Green plied the long-poled rudder, and talked to Henri, the patroon
who stood cross-armed, watching the current.

 
          
 
The patroon served as boat boss. Henri had
been steering boats for over twenty years, and had a chest like a barrel. A
thick mane of black hair hung down past his shoulders and matched his full
beard. His fists looked capable of driving hardwood pegs through an oak post,
and bristly black hair covered his forearms.

 
          
 
On the passe avant, someone cursed the poor
Doodle. From where he sat, Travis could see Richard Hamilton's expression.
Christ must have looked like that as he hauled the Cross up to
Golgotha
. The young man's mouth was set, cheeks
sweaty and flushed, his eyes glazed. Hamilton staggered against the pole more
than he pushed it. Stringy muscles shook as he struggled to keep up, a task
made urgent since Trudeau, the burly engage behind, cuffed him for being slow
and clumsy.

 
          
 
Green, having turned the boat over to Henri,
walked up and settled himself on the planks beside Travis. He squinted up at
the sun, pulled a twist of tobacco from his pocket, and cut off a chew. His
cheeks worked as he softened the quid and got it to juicing.

 
          
 
"Good day fer taking leave," Travis
noted.

 
          
 
"Yep. Nice weather for a change. I've
heard two different sets of beliefs on that. One is that it's an omen for good,
the other says that the better the weather, the shittier it's going to get on
the trip."

 
          
 
"Reckon I'll settle fer the first
one."

 
          
 
"Me, too." Green paused
thoughtfully. "Well, no matter. We're off, and the Devil take the hindmost.
I'll tell you, Travis, I never thought I'd see this day. Look at her... my own
boat, my own goods. For years I dreamed about this."

 
          
 
"I 'member." Travis closed his eyes
and leaned his head back against the mast so the sun could warm his eyelids.
"Always reckoned ye were a mite teched, Dave. As I recollect, first time I
heard ye spouting off about being a booshway was that time on the
Knife River
."

 
          
 
Green chuckled. "Yeah, I remember. You
and me, lost, shivering under that blanket while the wind howled and blew the
snow so hard you couldn't see your hand in front of your face. We didn't dare
fall asleep—scared to death the snow would drift up, cover us, and we'd smother
to death before we could freeze."

 
          
 
Travis smiled, the scars around his mouth
going tight. "Yep. Ye talked all that long black night about being a
booshway. Bigger than Manuel Lisa, as I recall."

 
          
 
"Funny how things can change a man's
life. The dream was born that night out there in the snow." Green crossed
his arms over his knees, watching the heads of the engages as they bobbed past
the cargo box in the endless chore of poling the boat upstream. "But
bigger than Lisa? Nope. He was the canny old lobo of the high
Missouri
, Lisa was. Travis, I'd just be happy with
my share of the trade. Lisa wanted it all—and he'd have had it, but for dying
too soon."

 
          
 
"Reckon we all worry about dying too
soon. And in this country, 'tis high to probable that's how she'll happen. Too
bad ye warn't fixed to head upriver the year after Lisa gone under."

 
          
 
Green shook his head. "Time wasn't right.
I'd have lost everything a couple of years back when the Rees closed down the
river. As it was, Ashley took that loss instead of me."

 
          
 
The bank sloped down to the river here.
Periodically they passed an opening that had been cut in the trees where a
couple of cows grazed a small field.

 
          
 
"I'll tell you, coon, it won't take too
many more fights like that'un ter ruin this whole damned country fer white men
fer good.
Leavenworth
taking troops up ter fight the Arikara jist
made fools out of all of us. Not only did the Rees escape, but the Sioux reckon
we're worse than old women when it comes ter a scrape."

 
          
 
"
Leavenworth
was a fool. He should have pressed his
first attack on the big town. Everybody knows that, including Atkinson and
O'Fallon. They're no fools." Green clenched a fist. "That's why the
time is now. The army's up the
Missouri
. They've got four hundred and fifty
soldiers on eight keelboats. That's the biggest expedition ever sent upriver.
They'll take the fight out of the tribes. O'Fallon's got enough temper for five
men, and Atkinson's all cat scratch and honor. And we're slipping right up in
their wake."

 
          
 
"So long as they don't just run right
over us."

 
          
 
"We'll know."

 
          
 
"Best hope so, coon."

 
          
 
Green lowered his voice. "Chances have to
be taken, Travis. If I make this work, we'll all be set. Think of it! We'll
build us an empire on the
Yellowstone
.
Joshua Pilcher can have the headwaters of the
Missouri
clear up past the Three Forks. Let him take
the rough off of the Blackfeet. They'll pretty near suck him dry, and Pilcher
will keep their attention for a while. Meanwhile, we fort up and sink roots.
First we build a post at the mouth of the Big Horn . . . maybe right there on
top of Lisa's old post. The first season we establish trade with the Crows.
Second season, we expand the post, build it permanent. Maybe out of stone.
Third season, we start scouting up the Big Horn. I've always hankered to put a
post up at the
hot springs
where the Big Horn runs out of the mountains."

 
          
 
'That's Snake country."

 
          
 
Green pulled at his beard. "That it is,
Travis. First the Crow, then the Shoshoni. If I can corner the trade for both
tribes, I'll die a wealthy man .. . and so will you."

 
          
 
"Me?"

 
          
 
Green reached over and slapped Travis on the
leg. "You're my right arm, Travis. The only man I can trust. You know the
mountains and the Indians. The men respect you. You've been over most of that
country. Who knows it better?"

 
          
 
"Lots of coons. Colter, Glass, lots of
'em."

 
          
 
"Bete ane!" came an angry cry.

 
          
 
"Stop it! Leave me alone!"

 
          
 
Travis stood, stepping over to where the
engages had piled up in a little knot to frown down at Richard Hamilton. The
man from
Boston
hunched, quivering, while Boulette snorted
and stomped.

 
          
 
"Hyar, now!" Travis snapped, glaring
down.

 
          
 
Boulette looked up, hands gesturing Gallic
disgust. "Why you have this man? He's worthless! Weak!"

 
          
 
"Dick! Git to work, now. We ain't got all
year to git upriver."

 
          
 
"I can't. . . can't," the Yankee
panted, trembling.

 
          
 
The other engages looked on, braced on their
poles so the boat didn't slip against the current. Expressions ranged from
humor to disgust.

 
          
 
"Reckon ye'd better, Dick."

 
          
 
Green stomped across the deck, a large horse
pistol filling his fist. "What's the matter here?"

 
          
 
"Reckon young
Hamilton
hyar's about done in." Travis sucked
thoughtfully at his lip as he studied the situation. The sunlight was
glittering off the water; the trees on the near bank looked bronzed with the
new buds ready to burst.