Timecachers (46 page)

“This bark from the white birch tree can be boiled to make a mild pain-relieving potion,” he told Sal. He crumpled some of the bark into his flint tin, added some river water, and set it on a rock next to the fire. “I will make enough for both of us. It will help relieve the pain of your overstressed muscles.”

Sal thought that relieving all the pain his abused body was feeling would more likely require Percocet rather than tree bark, but he’d take whatever relief he could get.

By now the fish were ready, and both men devoured them with gusto. After the last few sparse meals of raw fish, the fire-roasted fish tasted exquisite. For dessert, they shared the analgesic birch-bark tonic, which Sal had to admit—it did relieve his sore and aching muscles considerably.

Nourished and revitalized they set off on the trail once again, walking at a brisk pace, yet somewhat slower than the first part of their journey. Yonah said they should easily be able to reach the overland trail before dark, where they would depart the river taking a more direct route to his home.

“This canyon is awesome. I haven’t seen many deep canyons like this in the southeast.”

“The canyon becomes even deeper further south. However, we must climb out before reaching the deepest part. It is a very beautiful place, and an important area to the Cherokee. A few miles to the west is an important Cherokee town called Willstown. The whites built a fort there, commanded by Major Payne. A most appropriate name; he’s been a real pain to us,” he said with a wry smile.

“Sequoya lived there until he went to the western territory. Sequoya is the one who created the Cherokee syllabary so we could have a written language. Some of our legends say that our priests had a written language hundreds of years earlier. No one knows for sure, since we killed all the priests a long time ago when they began to think they were better than everyone else.

“Since then we have had only a spoken language. There wasn’t much of a need for writing—our history is preserved in the stories that are told over and over again. Once Sequoya proved that his syllabary worked, everyone wanted to learn it. Now there is a higher percentage of Cherokee than whites who are literate. We even had a newspaper printed in English and Cherokee, the
Cherokee Phoenix
, which was printed in New Echota until the Georgia Guard destroyed the press. We hope that someday publication will be allowed to resume,” he paused, not wishing to voice his further thoughts on that issue. He changed the subject.

“It is said that the Spanish explorer Hernando De Soto was the first white man to see this canyon about three hundred years ago. A very extraordinary man, though he caused much devastation among the Cherokee and many other tribes. He was strongly driven by an insatiable hunger for gold, the driving force of the so-called Conquistadors.”

“From what I remember of my history, those Conquistador dudes really wreaked havoc on many peaceful civilizations.”

“Wreak havoc they did, but those civilizations were hardly peaceful before the Conquistadors. The Incas were plagued by civil war, and capitalizing on their civil unrest was one of Francisco Pizarro’s most effective strategies. Cortez formed alliances with the enemies of the Aztecs to defeat them. Both the Incas and Aztecs were aware of precious metals, and valued them highly. The Aztec society even permitted slaves, although it was not the same as the European version of slavery. Theirs was more of a form of punishment and not hereditary.

“The most devastating tragedy to those civilizations was the introduction of European diseases, such as smallpox, that annihilated much of their population. That was also the case here in North America. The smallpox brought here by De Soto reduced the Cherokee population by more than half.”

The mention of De Soto sparked a memory for Sal. He seemed to remember a state park in Alabama, probably right in this area, which had been named in honor of De Soto. He wondered what Yonah’s reaction would be to honoring the person who had decimated half the population of his nation by naming a part of their former homelands after him. While many would be insulted, he figured Yonah would be perversely amused by the irony.

By the time they reached the path out of the canyon, departing the river and climbing into the mountains, it was late afternoon. Even in the shadows of the canyon, the sun had warmed them nicely, drying out the articles they had salvaged from the river. The path switch-backed sharply up the steep canyon wall, bringing them to the crest of the ridge above the river. They paused at the top to take in the view of the towering mountain range to the west. Noticing Sal’s look of dismay, Yonah assured him that they would not be climbing into the distant mountains.

“We will be traveling through the gap to the south. We still face a strenuous path. We will not need to climb much higher, but the trail is mountainous and we have several large creeks to cross. We should try to make another few miles before stopping for the night.”

Sal assumed Yonah was feeling much better; Sal himself certainly was. Their pace had increased to become as brisk as it had been when they started out. The birch-bark tea had eased his pain greatly, the warming sun felt great, and he was finally completely dry after two days in damp clothing. The magnificent view from the top of the ridge recharged his spirit. He began to feel like his old brazen self, yet with a much deeper admiration of his traveling companion, and perhaps just a touch of humility.

“Lead on, Tonto,” Sal replied, gesturing with a flourish.

Sal’s hope of remaining dry for the remainder of the journey quickly faded when they reached the first creek crossing. It was not especially wide, but it was deep. They would need to wade waist-deep to reach the other side. He was pleased to hear Yonah suggest that they make an early camp and ford the creek in the morning.

“Better to keep dry for the night,” Yonah said to Sal’s agreement. “I will see if I can work my bow well enough to get us dinner. If we leave at first light, we will reach my home before midday.”

They found a suitable spot close to the creek to spend the night. In the trees above their heads, Sal could hear rustling leaves followed by a screeching call, sounding like a cross between a bird and a cat. Yonah heard it also, motioned for him to be silent, and readied his bow. With more elegance than Sal would have thought possible having one arm bound by the sling, Yonah let loose an arrow, accurately finding its target. A squirrel, pierced through its mid-section by Yonah’s arrow, fell at Sal’s feet.

“Not a bad shot,” said Sal approvingly. Actually, it was a superb shot, considering Yonah’s wounded arm. Hitting a squirrel in a tree with a homemade bow and arrow was no simple feat. Sal offered no further praise. His admiration for Yonah had grown, but he was still Sal.

“The next squirrel will not be as easy,” said Yonah, “now that they know we are here. You heard his warning call to the other squirrels.”

Yonah picked up the squirrel, removing the arrow and mumbling a few words of thanks to the animal as he did. He handed the squirrel to Sal.

“I will see if I can get a few more,” said Yonah. “Best you stay here so I don’t shoot the squirrel-man instead of the squirrel.”

Yonah left Sal with his flint and char-cloth. Sal had watched him enough to get the idea. He expertly started the fire, this time without causing himself injury. By the time the fire was going well enough for cooking, Yonah returned with another three squirrels. They cleaned the squirrels and cooked them over the fire on a stick, like “squirrel kabobs” as Sal called them. Yonah just grunted and wiped the grease from his chin.

“Awesome dinner, Tonto,” Sal said, tossing the last of the squirrel bones into the fire, stretching and leaning back against a rock to get comfortable.

Yonah did the same. “Tell me, Squirrel-man, who is this Tonto you keep calling me?”

“Tonto?” Sal repeated, without the least bit of embarrassment. “Tonto was the ‘faithful Indian companion’ of a legendary western hero, The Lone Ranger.”

“Hmmm; a companion to the Lone Ranger?” Yonah scratched his head. “I do not understand. If he was a lone ranger, why did he have a companion?”

“I guess he didn’t want to get too lonely,” Sal smirked. “I dunno, I guess he needed the skills of Tonto to track people and stuff so he could be a hero.”

“What did he do that made him a hero?”

“He got into fights and beat up the bad guys after Tonto led him to them.”

“Didn’t Tonto fight? Was he a coward?” Yonah looked disgusted. “What tribe was he?”

“Naw, man, he wasn’t a coward. Tonto was an awesome fighter, but he only fought when he had to help out the Lone Ranger. I don’t know what tribe he was.”

Yonah considered this for a moment. “It sounds to me like Tonto was the smart one. He did the tracking and let this Lone Ranger fellow do most of the fighting,” he said. “He must have been Tsalagi.”

“Yeah, well, I suppose you have a point, dude. But it was the Lone Ranger who was the hero. And I don’t think he was Cherokee—the Lone Ranger and Tonto lived out west somewhere.”

“He was probably only the hero to the white people,” said Yonah. “I bet the Indians thought Tonto was the real hero. He probably just let the Lone Ranger believe himself to be the hero so he could use him to fight bad guys. I still think he could be a Cherokee. Maybe he was one of the Old Settlers that moved out west a while back.”

“Whatever.” Sal had a defeated look. “I probably shouldn’t call you that, though, dude. I don’t think the Native Americans who live in my time like the name very much.”

“I do not mind. He seems to have been a very smart Indian traveling with a white man who thinks he’s special. Sounds familiar to me,” he said with a half-grin.

Chapter thirty-eight

T
he water was freezing cold. In spite of their discomfort, crossing the icy creek helped relieve their lingering muscle aches. Sal and Yonah were across the creek before sunrise, and by the time they reached the top of the next hill the rising sun had already begun to dry them. It was going to be a very warm day; a forewarning that the pleasant spring climate would soon turn into humid, sweltering summer days typical in the Deep South. Today they welcomed the warmth. They had a few more stream crossings to make and the bright sun would dry them quickly, sparing them the unpleasantness of walking in wet clothing.

It was barely past mid-day when they reached the top of the ridge, where they halted before making the final climb to Yonah’s mountain. From the ridge they could once again see the river running through the deeply carved canyon far below. Yonah pointed at the river to their east, tracing its route in the air with his finger. He stopped when he was pointing at the place where the river divided.

“The tributary that divides off to the west flows along the southern side of my mountain. The creek continues to run through a deep canyon, hiding the approach to my cabin high on the mountaintop. It is the way we would have gone had we used the river. Coming from this direction, we need only to climb the northern side of the mountain,” said Yonah.

“So we’re coming through the back door, huh? I hope you didn’t lose your house keys back there in the river,” Sal quipped.

“There is only one door and it faces east. No lock. Someone may need to get in,” Yonah said solemnly.

The climb was steep but not far. They emerged from the woods into a clearing at the very summit of the mountain. In the center of the clearing sat a tiny cabin, to Sal’s eyes not much more than a large shed. The building measured no more than twelve feet wide by fifteen feet long. The walls were axe-cut trees, notched at the corners with mud plastered between them. A stone chimney overspread one side, tapering to a narrow flue jutting above the pine bark roof.

“Home, sweet home at last, eh Tonto? We probably oughta check out that arm of yours first thing. I don’t suppose you have a Med-pack in there, do you, dude?”

“I have material for clean dressing and unguent, if that is what you mean,” Yonah answered as they entered the cabin.

Both men froze as they stepped across the threshold. Inside the cabin was a shambles. Items of all kinds were strewn across the floor. The table that once sat in the middle of the room was pushed against the wall, and the two chairs were overturned. Containers that had once stood on a shelf near the hearth were upended, their contents dumped onto the floor. The cooking tools from the mantle had been scattered and blankets tossed down from the sleeping loft above.

“Someone has been here,” said Yonah.

“No kidding! How can you tell, Tonto? Must be that keen Indian sense of yours. I just thought you were a terrible housekeeper. Maybe you oughta rethink that lock and key thing.”

“I do not know why this was done. I have very little that anyone would want to steal.”

It took them less than thirty minutes to put the tiny cabin back in order. Yonah said that only a few insignificant items were missing, mostly tools, a haunch of dried venison, and his animal traps were nowhere to be found.

Yonah pulled a loose stone from the hearth, and retrieved a metal box from a hole underneath. He opened the box and removed a pouch and a handful of coins. He inventoried the coins, and tossed them back into the box with a jingle.

“At least they didn’t find my money. There isn’t much, but I’ll need it for supplies.”

He opened the pouch and dumped the contents into his hand, revealing an ample pile of sizeable gold nuggets.