Timecachers (45 page)

Sal closed his eyes and tried to ignore his discomfort. He focused on the sound of the rushing rapids, letting it drown out Yonah’s snoring, and eventually fell asleep.

In his dreams, he found himself back on the river, being accosted once again, this time by an entire army of guffawing yokels who stood on the banks of the river, drinking moonshine from brown jugs and bellowing foul invectives at him. He cursed them back with his usual vigor until he caught site of the weapon they were now leveling at him—a WW2 vintage Browning M2 .50 caliber machine gun. Probably could get those at the local Army surplus store, he dreamt.

He flattened himself in the canoe bottom as he heard the rat-tat-tat of the gun disintegrating the gunwale of the canoe, splinters of wood flying everywhere. He looked up to see Yonah sitting upright, impervious to the whizzing slugs flying around him. Yonah looked at him indifferently and said, “Must be squirrel season, white man.”

He screamed as the machine gun ate away more and more of the canoe, until he finally awoke with a start. He looked around in panic, disoriented, still hearing the sound of the gun. His panic subsided when he realized the sound was a woodpecker, pecking out insects for his breakfast from a nearby tree. His relief quickly turned to embarrassment when he noticed Yonah, already awake, staring at him.

“Bad dream?” Yonah asked nonchalantly. “Not altogether unexpected after our misadventure yesterday. My own sleep was considerably restful and refreshing,” he boasted.

“Just that damn woodpecker,” said Sal, not bothering to elaborate. His heart was still racing from the nightmare. “Glad to hear you’re feeling a little better. How is your head, dude? Do you have any dizziness?”

“It aches and I have a large lump. No dizziness. I have the hard head of a Cherokee warrior.”

“That’s for sure. What about the gunshot wound?”

Yonah had already removed the bandana and was tentatively probing his wound. “It is better, but too large to be left open. I think I will need to use some of our fishing line and one of the hooks to place a few stitches. It will be awkward for me to do it with one hand,” he said with an inquiring look at Sal.

Sal shook himself fully awake and made his own examination of the wound. He could see that Yonah was right, it was going to take a few stitches to keep the gaping hole together so it could heal. “I’m not known for my sewing ability, but I’ll give it my best shot.”

Sal retrieved the fishing line and one of the hooks. He used a rock to grind off the barb and straightened it a little, leaving it slightly curved. He then threaded a short piece of the heavy fishing line through the eyelet. He washed it in river water, wishing he had a way to sterilize it. Sal was pretty sure antiseptic medicine hadn’t been considered yet—he wasn’t even sure if Lister had been born yet. Certainly no one had heard of using carbolic acid to sterilize a wound, although Yonah had probably been exposed to enough germs to be a lot more resistant to infection than he would be.

Sal wished he at least had a way to anesthetize the wound. He used cold river water to numb the area, but doubted it would help much once he began. He examined the area once again, visualizing the exact places he would make the stitches. He figured he would need at least three. That would mean six stabs to an obviously very painful wound, and then whatever fussing he would have to do to tie it off. He knew the Indian was a tough old dog, but he hoped this wasn’t going to be more than he could take.

“This is going to hurt you more than it is me, dude.”

Yonah simply turned his head and nodded.

He felt Yonah tense as he made the first stab with the hook, and felt him flinch again as he pulled the eyelet through the skin. He continued to work as tenderly as possible and as quickly as he dared. There was no sense in stopping to ask Yonah if he was okay or needed a break. The best he could do would be to work rapidly; thereby keeping Yonah’s suffering to a minimum. Once again he passed the hook through the skin, gently pulling the line taught enough to hold the skin together. Yonah was silent, but tense, and the perspiration on his arm was making it difficult for Sal to hold onto. He hooked his left arm around Yonah’s for a firmer grip, and continued with his stitching. Two more stitches to go.

He began the next stitch and heard Yonah’s sharp intake of breath. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“It is nothing,” said Yonah. “Keep going.”

Sal talked as he worked, helping to keep Yonah’s mind on something besides the pain. “I’m worried about infection. That occurs because of dirt in the wound, so we’ll have to keep it clean using the river water.” He didn’t think it would be a good idea to bring up the fact that the water was probably full of bacteria, not wanting to hear Yonah’s reaction to being told it was full of tiny bugs too small to be seen. “It looks like that Yarrow stuff is already helping it to heal. It’s a good thing you knew about it. Alice has some knowledge of medicinal plants, but I never got into it.”

“Once you have stitched and bound the wound, you can apply more of the Yarrow poultice,” said Yonah. “There are some other plants that will also help with healing, and I will look for willow bark to ease the pain. For now, the Yarrow, cold water, and sunlight will do.”

“Your good night’s rest also helped,” Sal said as he pulled through the last stitch. “Hang on, I’m nearly done. I just need to tie off the end.”

The wound had begun to bleed freely from the stitching, but at least Sal had managed to close up the hole somewhat. He rinsed his bandana again, washing away as much blood as he could before he applied more of the crushed Yarrow leaves.

“It’s gonna leave an ugly scar,” Sal said as he rewrapped the bandana around Yonah’s arm, “but I think it will heal much more quickly now.”

“
Wado,
” said Yonah. “Once again I am in your debt.”

“You’re welcome, dude. I just hope you hold together long enough to get us out of here. It’s going to be a pretty damn tough climb down that waterfall. And now we’ll have to walk the rest of the way. Just how far is it to this mountaintop crib of yours?”

“Not so far, but it is very rugged country.” Then with a wry smile he added, “Even for bears and squirrels. It would usually only take one full day of walking. We can follow the river for a short way, to the beginning of the canyon country, and then follow another trail that traverses less rugged terrain.”

That news was a tremendous relief to Sal. The remoteness of the area led him to believe they were at least several days travel away from anywhere. Hiking for a day or two, even in rough terrain, wouldn’t be so bad.

Slowly getting to his feet, Yonah said, “We should begin right away. I know of a way down the waterfall that is not too strenuous, and once we are beyond this part of the river we can build a fire and prepare a proper meal.”

“Sounds awesome to me, Tonto. Are you sure you can travel so soon?”

“I will be fine,” he said confidently. “Let us go.”

Yonah led the way to the top of the waterfall. He walked along the top of the rocks, away from the water, until he reached a trailhead that descended the mountain. The trail was rocky and narrow, with short, steep switchbacks, but was well used and it afforded them a much easier descent than Sal had anticipated. The river was a major transportation route, and Sal realized it should be no surprise that there was an established trail for portage past the waterfall. They were able to make their way down into the canyon with a minimum of climbing; only a few places on the trail required them to climb over some large boulders.

About half-way down they stopped, sitting on one of the boulders to catch their breath. Sal resisted asking Yonah how he was doing, knowing it would only aggravate the Indian if he excessively coddled him. He could see that the old man, who never usually revealed any signs of weariness, was breathing hard, and the bandana showed fresh blood seeping from the wound.

“We might have to find a way to immobilize your arm,” Sal suggested. “It would be a shame to ruin my beautiful stitching job.”

Yonah shrugged. “We will finish our descent first.”

The remainder of the downward climb was less arduous. The switchbacks became wider and gentler. Near the end of the descent they scrambled over the talus pile at the bottom of the cliff, and made their way to the plunge pool at the base of the falls. The noise of the waterfall was much louder here, the crash of the cascading water echoing off of the canyon walls in a constant roar. They spotted the demolished canoe, rather what was left of it, lodged in between the rocks at the pool’s edge.

The bow of the boat must have struck a rock full force at the bottom of the falls, shattering its frame. The scattered pieces looked like they had been hit by cannon fire, reminding Sal of his nightmare. They exchanged a silent glance, conveying a mutual thought—had they gone over the falls, their bodies would lie here amongst the devastation. Neither of them wanted to verbalize that thought.

They sorted through the wreckage hoping to recover some of their most useful items. They gathered some articles of clothing, drenched but otherwise intact, and a few odds and ends from Yonah’s carry-sacks. Fortunately, the tin of flint and char-cloth survived undamaged, though the strips of cloth now looked like black globs of mud. Yonah shook the water from the tin and slipped it into his pocket. He picked up a small pouch and dumped its contents into his hand. He looked forlornly at his broken pipe and waterlogged tobacco, and then tossed them aside with a scowl. They found none of the
gahawista
; the parched corn had either floated away or been eaten by fish.

Yonah discovered his longbow farther down the river. The bowstring was missing, although the sinew cord would have been ruined by the water anyway. His quiver was nowhere in sight, but he found a few of the arrows and salvaged the surviving metal arrowheads. He would need to restring the bow and build some arrows, but finding the longbow meant they had some protection and an effective way of obtaining food.

“It is unfortunate the canoe struck the rocks as it did. I hoped it might be salvageable,” Yonah said over the roar of the waterfall. “No matter—we will walk.”

Moving away from the spray of the falls, Yonah stopped to remove the bandana and check his wound. “Your stitching has held fine, Squirrel-man. Our climb down the falls has started the bleeding again, however. I will have to be more careful.”

Sal took the bandana from Yonah and rinsed it again in the river, then applied another layer of the Yarrow salve. Then he took one of the soaking wet shirts they recovered, wrung it out as best he could, and fashioned it into a sling.

“That oughta help keep your arm stable.”

Yonah tied an additional loop in the cloth, slipped the sling around his arm and over his head, and then slid the longbow through the loop across his back. He made a few adjustments and when he was satisfied with the fit, nodded to Sal.

They continued walking, following the river southward as it descended into the canyon it had carved as it wound its way between the mountains. The canyon walls above the river became steeper, creating a spectacular hidden valley several hundred feet deep in some places. They climbed over several huge boulders along the river which had been chiseled by centuries of erosion, forming deep, watery grooves in the solid rock. Yonah became more relaxed and talkative as they progressed, sensing the nearness of his home quarter. He told Sal that he had taken many hunting trips into this canyon, and that there were numerous caves in the canyon walls which could be used for shelter. He suddenly left the path and headed for a patch of shrub-like plants, and began examining the reddish stems.

“Time to stop and pick some flowers, Tonto?” Sal watched him with interest. The old dude never did anything without good reason.

“This is Indian Hemp that I was hoping to find.”

Sal didn’t think it looked much like the hemp he was familiar with, and hoped the old man wasn’t about to roll up a doobie from it. He made no comment, figuring the inscrutable Indian would explain more when he was ready, and not before.

“It is mid-morning, and this is a good place for a short stop,” Yonah continued. “See if you can catch us a few more fish,” he said as he began to pick some long stems of the Indian Hemp and pluck the leaves from them.

“Sure, no problemo. I’m an angler what knows all the angles,” said Sal. “Hey you ain’t gonna get buzzed on that stuff while I’m gone, are you, Tonto?”

Yonah looked at him quizzically, but did not reply.

Sal had been gone about three-quarters of an hour by the time he dug up some bait, found a good fishing hole, and caught a couple of fish. When he returned, Yonah had stripped fibers from the Indian Hemp and twisted them into a cord, which he was now using to string his longbow. He had also fashioned several arrows that he fitted with the salvaged arrowheads.

“I see you are becoming quite a good fisherman,” said Yonah. “I will build a fire so we can eat them properly this time,” he said, indicating the strips of char-cloth that had been laid out on a rock and allowed to dry in the sun. “This hemp cord is not as good as a sinew bowstring, but it will serve well enough.” He inspected the bow and stretched the string approvingly. “I can provide meat for our next meal.”

Once the fire was built, Sal cooked the fish while Yonah finished working on his bow. He put the final touches on his arrows by attaching some feathers for fletching and cutting a nock. He tested shooting a few arrows, awkwardly at first, trying not to move his injured arm any more than necessary. After a half-dozen shots, his aim improved and he was satisfied with the results. Setting the bow aside, he walked into the woods and returned after a few moments with a handful of bark. He then joined Sal next to the fire.