Timecachers (34 page)

As he spoke, he reached into his pouch and retrieved another small bundle, which he nonchalantly unwrapped to reveal a fat ham sandwich. He made a show of relishing each bite he took.

“Hey, man!” said Sal, glaring. “How come you get the fresh sandwich and I get the hard gah-whatsit corn nuts and shoe leather?”

“It is gahawista,” he corrected. “And I have the sandwich because I am the one who thought to bring it.” Yonah answered matter-of-factly, smacking his lips as he ate the sandwich. “When we stop for the night we will eat again. Then you may get to see an Indian hunt, and if the spirits are obliging we will both have fresh meat.”

Sal grumbled under his breath, but pretended to enjoy the food as if it were the finest meal he ever had. He regretted his outburst, realizing that he had fallen for Yonah’s baiting. He washed down some of the crunchy, dry corn with some water. At least he had thought to grab one of the skins of water from Benjamin.

“Just how far are we going on this little walkabout?” Sal asked.

“The journey will last several days. By tonight we will reach the water and will use the river for travel for much of the rest of the way. The end of our journey will bring us within what you call the state of Alabama. That is, if you can make it.”

“Just lead the way, Tonto. That is, if you can find the river,” Sal retorted. Alabama! He hadn’t expected to travel so far. He kept his expression neutral, not allowing Yonah to see his shock. At least most of the trip would be by boat.

After the short break, they continued walking southward along the ridge. It was another warm, sun-filled day in May, and nothing worked better to mellow Sal out than a long hike on a beautiful day. His irritation at Yonah was soon replaced by the delight of the surroundings. The elevation gave them a spectacular view of the valley below and the next mountain range to the west. Yonah seemed content to travel in silence, which suited Sal just fine. In his own time, he would likely hear traffic noise or other sounds of civilization, even in this remote spot at this high altitude. Today, other than the occasional insect or animal noise, the only sounds were those made by their own footsteps.

Sal determined he was in the vicinity of Lookout Mountain, somewhere between Georgia and Alabama. Yonah moved forward with confidence, so he wasn’t too concerned about getting lost, and felt sure he could back-track his route if he had to. That thought gave him some comfort. The alternative was to admit he would be completely lost without Yonah.

They hadn’t traveled long before Yonah took a switchback path descending down the western slope, leading them to some relatively flat terrain. It was much warmer in the valley, and the blazing midday sun made Sal thankful he still had the straw hat from Benjamin. Even so, he was sweating profusely by the time they reached the first creek crossing. Swollen from the spring runoff, the creek was waist-deep. Sal was cooled by the chilly water, but the sun dried him quickly. With several creeks and small rivers to cross, he was never too hot or too wet for very long.

The warm sunshine and long stretches of trail also began to have an effect on Yonah, who abandoned his silent march and began to sing. Initially, it sounded like unintelligible chanting to Sal. As they walked, the rhythm of the Tsalagi song matched their stride and Yonah’s quavering voice became a hauntingly eerie melody as it echoed through the forest. It seemed to push them along, making the hike feel less strenuous. Anything that took his mind off of his aching legs was okay with Sal.

Before long they were ascending another mountain. This range was higher than the last, but mercifully the switchbacks of the trail made the ascent less grueling. It was still a strenuous climb, and at a point about halfway up the mountain they paused next to a pile of huge boulders, Yonah allowing them a moment to rest and take a drink of water. Grateful for the breather, Sal stepped up onto one of the boulders to take in the view.

“
Si
! Wait!” Yonah cried urgently.

Sal heard the agitated rattling at the same instant. He looked down to see a sunbathing rattlesnake coiled on the boulder not more than four feet from his boot. He froze, mesmerized by the spiraling patterns of the snake’s markings as it coiled. Its tail was erect, vibrating urgently and demanding attention.

“Don’t…” Yonah began.

“Shhh!” Sal whispered firmly, still frozen, keeping his eye on the snake and trying to judge its size and distance from him. Keeping his body stiff, he cautiously backed away from the snake, as slowly and as far as he could until he reached the edge of the boulder. He then gingerly stepped off of the rock. As he did, the snake swiftly uncoiled and shot off in the opposite direction.

Yonah sighed in relief. “Let’s not meet each other again this summer,
Utsanati
,” he spoke in the direction of the retreating snake. “Well done,” he said sincerely to Sal. “I am surprised you did not panic or try to kill it.”

“Hey, dude, I’ll admit my heart rate went up a bit, but I was pretty sure that I was outside of his striking range. Most of the time and given a chance, a snake will prefer to retreat rather than strike a human. Kill it? Why the heck would I do that? These are his digs; I’m just passing through.”

Yonah looked at Sal with a raised eyebrow and grunted. He pondered the possibility that this worthless
yonega
may have some merit after all. A very remote possibility, he thought, and he was not about to give Sal any indication of further approval beyond his “well done” remark. He would, however, reward the respect Sal had shown for the rattlesnake by sharing a story with him.

“You may not know this, Squirrel-man,” Yonah began, “but
Utsanati
, the rattlesnake, holds a position of high regard with the Cherokee. It is said that the killing of a rattlesnake will bring about the death of the killer, at least if it is done without proper preparations. That belief began with the story from long ago, back when the animals could speak to men. I will share this story with you.

“It seems that a man was out hunting and came across a clan of rattlesnakes who were all making a terrible wailing sound. When the hunter asked them what the trouble was, they told him that his wife had just today attacked and killed their chief, believing him to be dangerous to her children. They told him that they were planning to send another snake to take revenge, and he must help them by sending his wife out for water, where she could be bitten. If he did not do this, they would just kill him here and now.

“The hunter told the snakes he was sorry that their chief had been killed, and although he did not want to lose his wife, he knew that what they were asking was just. He agreed to return to his home and send his wife outside so the snake could take his revenge.

“He did what they asked, and in return the snake promised not to bite any men unless they were threatened, and taught him a song that could be sung over a person who had been bitten to help cure him.”

“Man, that’s like a pretty hefty fee,” Sal said, “just for killing a snake. Anyhow I’m pleased as punch you don’t have to sing any songs over me. I think the bite would be painful enough, Tonto, without having to listen to more of your caterwauling. But I agree that creatures oughta be treated with respect, especially the ones with poisonous fangs, dude.”

Yonah nodded, mentally giving Sal credit for the remark, and showing only a slight suggestion of a smile at the criticism of his singing voice. “If you are bitten you had better hope I remember the words.”

They continued their trek up the mountain path, being a little more vigilant about where they stepped, Yonah not wanting to insult
Utsanati
after promising not to see him again, and Sal not wanting to get bitten. They were on the east side of the mountain range and the shadows grew long as the sun descended below the mountaintop. When they crested the peak they were once again in full sunlight, while the valley below was bathed in the early evening’s orange glow.

Turning southward once again to follow the ridgeline, the chilly breeze of the higher elevation was at their backs. They had not gone far before Sal saw the orange sunlight glistening off of a small mountaintop lake. He followed Yonah to a tiny campsite on the lakeshore, nestled in an isolated cove. Sal could see the small darkened spot ringed with rocks that served as a fire pit, and a small lean-to, crudely made from boughs and tucked into a stand of three pine trees. Down at the lake edge, pulled up into the trees, was a canoe.

“We will camp here tonight,” Yonah declared. “From this lake, we can follow the Little River to my home near Dog Town.”

“Awesome!” said Sal, as he plopped down on a stump next to the fire ring. “A downstream paddle the whole way. I’ve had my fill of walking for a while.”

“Make no mistake, Squirrel-man,” Yonah warned. “It is an arduous journey with many portages around waterfalls and non-navigable rapids. There are several portages that require a steep climb, and getting to my home, which is on a mountaintop, is also a strenuous ascent.”

“Of course,” said Sal sarcastically, “where else would you live but on a mountaintop.”

Yonah ignored the comment. “Gather some firewood,” he said, dropping his bundles. “I will return soon with meat,” he said as he headed into the woods with his longbow.

“Right,” said Sal, speaking aloud to himself as soon as Yonah was no longer within earshot. “Whatever you say, Tonto, you’re in charge. I’ll just hang here and gather firewood,” he grumbled as he began picking up pieces of deadwood. He piled the collected wood next to the fire ring, and broke up the longer branches so they would be the right size for a campfire. Once he had enough wood, he took some dry twigs and, using his pocketknife, he made a small pile of wood shavings and twigs in the center of the fire ring.

He decided to take a shot at starting the fire. He did not have matches or a lighter, and the fire-steel he bought from a camping store had been left behind in the SUV with the rest of the twenty-first century gear. He’d never had the chance to use it before anyway, since someone always had matches to light the fire. He knew the secret would be to create a spark, one hot enough to ignite the kindling, which he figured he could do by banging a couple of rocks together. It might not be easy, but it would give him great satisfaction to get the fire started before Yonah returned.

There were certainly plenty of different types of rocks around. He experimented banging a few different kinds of rocks together until he found some that seemed to generate a spark if he banged them together hard enough. He took the rocks to the fire ring, and began to strike the rocks together as close to the kindling as he could get them. With much effort he was able to make sparks, but they were just landing harmlessly on the kindling and dying out before catching fire. He needed something that would catch fire more easily. He set aside the rocks and found a rotten log. Peeling away a layer of bark, he scraped out some of the dry, white, fluffy material underneath and added it to his pile of kindling. He picked up the rocks again and resumed striking them together with the same result—a few weak sparks, not nearly hot or enduring enough to ignite the kindling.

“Man, this is tougher than I figured,” he thought. “I guess I need to smack these rocks together harder.”

He firmed up his grasp on the rocks. Holding one against the ground with his left hand, he drew back his right hand with the other rock over his head and brought it down with all his might against the other.

He screeched in pain as the rock struck his fingers. “Yeow!” he cried, dropping the rocks. “Damn!” He tried to assess the damage through the blood oozing from his three smashed fingernails, and then quickly turned at the sound of laughter coming from behind him.

“Are you so hungry you are going to cut off and eat your own hand?” Yonah said through his laughter. “I told you I would be back soon with meat. Could you not wait?” he said, still laughing as he dropped two freshly killed rabbits next to the fire ring.

“I was lighting the fire, dude.” He did his best not to wince at the pain throbbing in his fingers.

“Lighting the fire?” Yonah said, laughing even harder. “I know you are hot-blooded, Squirrel-man, but I didn’t know you could light fires with it!”

“You’re a real freakin’ riot,” Sal snapped, washing some of the blood from his fingers with water from his drinking skin. “At least my fingers aren’t broken. Thanks for your concern.”

“You will feel better after you eat, Squirrel-man. Tend to your wound and I will prepare the meal.”

Yonah retrieved a metal tin from his pocket and twisted it open. Inside the tin were several small pieces of black cloth and a piece of red flint. Using his hunting knife to strike the flint, a single stroke sent sparks onto the black cloth, causing it to smolder and glow. Yonah flipped the burning cloth with his knife into the pile of kindling Sal had made. He blew on the kindling, added a few more twigs and some larger sticks, creating a fire in less than a minute as Sal watched in frustration.

“What’s that black stuff?” he asked.

“It is char-cloth. Just a few pieces of cotton that have been ‘charred.’ It readily catches fire from a good spark and smolders long enough to catch the kindling. And a good piece of steel against a flint rock is much better than smashing your hand with a rock, although you may not want to use a knife without some more practice,” he said, smiling and pointing with his chin to Sal’s bleeding fingers.