Higgins turned to Little Wing and saw her mouth and
lips moving soundlessly as he spoke. "I do that."
"
And you, Little Wing, do you take this man to
be your husband, through sickness and health and whatever comes?"
She answered, plain as day, "I do that."
"
Then I say — and let everyone hear me — I
say you are man and wife." He bent his head and said the Lord's
Prayer without a mistake.
"
Now, Chief White Hawk?"
White Hawk held out his hands and said something
Higgins couldn't understand.
Summers' voice followed. "Hug her, Hig. Kiss
her, you fool."
Higgins had to put up with a day of feasting, a day
of talk, a day of smoking. Morning and afternoon wore on, and dusk
came and then dark. He wasn't sure whether he led Little Wing to his
lodge or she led him. Teal Eye or Summers or both had repitched the
tepee, far enough away from others for privacy. They entered and
closed the flap.
25
WE MOVE," White Hawk had said. "Camp
stink."
Higgins couldn't say no to that. They had passed last
summer in the same spot and then winter, and now another summer was
coming along. Too long, he thought, for people who squatted and did
their business on the outskirts of camp. In the summer they kept
themselves clean by dowsing in the stream. In the winter they made do
with cold water or snow. That didn't remove the smell of their
leavings, not with warm weather at hand.
"
It is time," Summers had answered. He
wouldn't say it was past time, though it was. He wouldn't mention
that the women had to go farther and farther for firewood, knowing
the chief knew it, too. Summers' thumb moved to his words.
"Downstream or up?"
They were speaking mostly in Shoshone, which Higgins
had got some of the hang of.
"
Down. Old camp dry and sweet now."
"
To the Bear?"
"
No. White-man road too close."
He meant the shortcut and the Oregon Trail, Higgins
knew. Pretty soon the prairie schooners would begin rolling. For all
he knew, they were rolling already.
Let them roll. Let farmers and clerks and businessmen
and preachers and sharpers hit the trail. Just leave the Shoshones
alone. It was a good life he was leading with them, good with Little
Wing as his wife and Summers and his family as close friends. Who the
hell wanted more, unless it might be to see the high plains again and
eat buffalo meat? They had fallen into a pattern, he and Summers. For
the most part they supplied meat for the camp, going out almost day
by day and bringing back elk, deer or sheep and once in a while, for
variety, a black bear. Sometimes they took an Indian or two with them
and let them try their luck with the Hawken or the Kentucky and so
made friends in the camp.
It seemed that some of Summers' old twitch had left
him. For months he had appeared easy in mind, pleased enough just to
hunt or loaf around camp or spend time with his boys. Once, last
summer, he had ridden down to the Bear, just to see, he said, how
many were the wagon trains, how many took the shortcut, how many went
by way of Fort Bridger. That's what he had said, but Teal Eye had
doubt in her eyes.
So they had struck their lodges and moved downstream,
the women doing the work of taking down tepees, fixing the lodge
poles for travois, packing the horses that the men brought in. Little
Wing had come to the point where she let him help some. The horse
herd, moved by five or six riders, would bring up the rear.
They made quite a procession, Higgins thought, riding
just ahead of the herd — loose horses, saddle horses, pack animals,
men, women, children, dogs, all dusting the way to new grounds.
Once they were settled, Higgins said to Summers,
"Thought I'd ride down to where the cutoff meets the Bear."
"
Take a couple of days."
"
I reckon Little Wing will bear up. She's
tannin' hides. Me, I'd like to see what's doin' with the palefaces.
Care to come along?"
Summers shook his head. " 'Nother time, maybe.
Right now me and the boys have some plans."
Higgins rode off alone at the first flush of light.
The night's chill faded as the day woke up. The season was coming
full — full of leaf and bloom, squirrels busy, birds, too, singing
hello to a new day. An eagle let out a scream. He could just see it,
a dot in the far sky. He rode through a growth of quaking asps, in
full leaf now, the leaves trembling to the breath of no wind.
It was shady beneath them, cool and
shady, and nothing could ever kill them but thirst. He could tie up
here and smoke a pipe and say to hell with the world's doings while
his eye rested on green leaves and white bark. But he hankered to
know. It would be a change just to talk to white strangers, to hear
about their trip, to get outside news.
It was the edge of dark when he cut away from Smith's
Fork to strike the Bear River north of the shortcut, and he watered
his horse, picketed it in good grass, ate jerky from his saddle bag
and lay down for the night. Tomorrow he might kill some meat.
Birds, singing their heads off, wakened him at dawn.
His horse was all right. He had a drink of water for breakfast and
was on his way. Summers had reminded him he would have to ford the
Bear twice to cut through the loop it made to the north. All right.
He could do it, or his horse could.
To the south of him now he could see the shimmer of
Bear Lake. A couple of deer flushed up, and he swung his rifle up and
around before thinking the day was too young and hot yet. There were
plenty of deer.
He shot a small, fat one just before the second
crossing of the Bear, where he would meet the real Oregon Trail and
turn south for the point where the cutoff came in. He took out the
scent glands and gutted the deer, saving the liver. He tied the
carcass behind his saddle. There would be waste unless he found
someone to help eat it.
The way was longer than he remembered, and it was
along toward dusk before he arrived.
Four horses stood where the cutoff and the Bear met,
two grounded riders beside them. The men had a fire going on a patch
of bare shore. Their unloaded packs lay on the ground, unopened. They
were young men who looked older because of their beards. They looked
fagged, too. The horses, having drunk, still nosed at the water. He
rode up and said, "Howdy, strangers."
The men nodded, saying nothing, but seemed not
unfriendly.
"
Bound for Oregon? Right?"
They looked at each other, and one of them asked,
"What makes you think so?"
"
I took the trail myself onct."
"Cutoff included?"
"
Yup. With wagons. It was teetotal hell."
"
Hard enough with horses. Eh, Dan?"
Dan said, "Sure is," and rubbed his butt.
"
Mind if I get off my horse a while?"
"
Suit yourself," the other man said.
Higgins dismounted, slanted his Kentucky against a
stone and reached for his pipe.
"
I was some disappointed in Oregon," he
said.
"Too bad, but not our worry."
"
No?"
Dan turned to fiddle with one of the packs, saying,
"Ask Walt."
Walt was the bigger of the two men. They were city
boys, Higgins figured, but not city-bred. Probably farm boys to begin
with.
‘
We're bound for California," Walt said.
"
Californy, huh?"
"
And the gold that's there."
"
Go1d!"
Dan turned from the pack. "Where you been,
old-timer?"
"
Not where I heerd anything like that. Gold?"
"
In every stream and every gulch. That's the
word. Came to us almost firsthand. Sit down. Light your pipe. We're
too damn tired to eat yet."
"Figured you could help me eat that deer there."
"
Thanks. Fresh meat, Walt."
"
Makes me hungry to think of it."
They were all seated now. Higgins passed a blazing
stick he had lighted his pipe with.
"
We got a long jump on most folks," Dan
said between puffs. "Heard the news early and gave up our jobs,
bought horses and set out. But it's like the whole nation was on the
move or soon will be, all headed for California."
"
Not all, Dan. There's the Mormons."
"
If you want to call them folks."
"
Anyhow, some's already on the trail, but not
after gold. They're headed for their settlement on what's called
Great Salt Lake, goin' by Fort Bridger."
"
Mormons," Higgins said. "There was
trouble in Missouri afore I left."
Both men nodded, and Walt said, "Too many wives
per man. What the hell would a man want with more than one, or even
one, come to that?"
Higgins had an answer, but he asked, "Hungry
yet, you boys? I'm gant."
He got up and went to his horse and took the deer
from it. He laid out the carcass, then tied his horse to a tree,
using a long rope so it could graze. The men were busy with their own
horses. He took out the liver, peeled enough of the hide back to get
out some good meat, then cut three roasting sticks. As the men
returned, he asked, "Kick up the fire some, will you?"
"
What I miss most," Dan said while they
ate, "is a chair to sit on. Just a chair."
"
Takes a spell to get used to the ground and
your ham bones," Higgins told him.
They sat back and lighted pipes and listened to the
night until Walt said, "Makes you think. All the people on the
move, east to west. They'll be coming by saddle horse and wagon and —
I wouldn't be surprised — afoot. Some women but mostly men."
"
No wonder," Dan put in. "The way we
heard it, it's just like you shoveled gold out of the stream beds."
"
We're way early," Dan said. "But even
so we passed a few outfits."
"
Most of 'em takin, the shortcut?" Higgins
asked.
"No. Not what we heard. Too tough was the word.
It's Fort Bridger for them."
"
Fact is," Walt added, "we passed just
one outfit that was meaning to take it."
"
Meaning, but not too likely to cut the
mustard."
"
I hope not."
Higgins asked, just to pass the time, "Ramshackle,
huh?"
"
Kind of," Dan answered. "Four men,
one open wagon and seven horses. And did that wagon stink`? One man
said they had been killing buffalo for their hides but gave it up
when they heard about California and gold. He was more or less
friendly, not like the boss man, or the one we figured was boss."
Walt took up the talk. "There were just three
saddle horses out of the seven. The others were draught stock. What
they wanted with the wagon is more than I know. Just some shovels and
bedrolls in it."
"
What was holdin' 'em up?" Higgins asked.
"
One man had taken sick, cramps and all.
Besides, the wagon needed fixing. Loose tires for one thing. The
delay didn't set well with the boss."
"
Cou1dn't expect it to," Higgins said. He
refilled and lit his pipe. It was pleasant enough just to palaver.
"
The boss was one big son of a bitch," Walt
said after a while. "Mean, too, it seemed like. Wouldn't you say
so, Dan?"
"I wouldn't want to tangle with him. Worth your
life to get a word out of him. Not like most travelers."
"
Name of Cowgill or Crusoe, or something like
that, the friendly one told us."
Higgins put off asking more. He didn't want to hear
it. His mouth said, "Could it be Caudill?" He felt a small
pinch in his guts. He hoped the answer was no.
"
I do believe it might be. Know him?
"
"
Heard of him is all. Heard of a Boone
Caudill."
"
That's the man, then. What did you hear?"
"
Only that he was a mountain man onct. You know,
a beaver trapper. You say he's comin' by way of the shortcut."
"
Yep."
"
How close to here?"
"
Three or four days, by our count."
"
That's if the man gets over the cramps."
"
What's a cramp or two to that boss?"
"Four days, I bet, figuring cramps and wagon
trouble."
So, Higgins thought, it had poked down to the quick.
Summers and Caudill, and Caudill close by at last. Jesus, with a
whole world to traipse in, they were this close together. And he had
to decide. Tell Summers or not? Just forget? Keep a secret from his
best friend, thinking to spare him? A damn shaky excuse for the lie
it would be. Tell him and let the chips fly?
Whatever he did, he better be where he could do it,
he thought, feeling his mind was already halfway made up. If it
wasn't, no harm in being on hand.
He got up of a sudden. "Keep the deer meat,"
he said to the men. "I got to go."