Fair Land, Fair Land (2 page)

For the hell of it, Summers said, " 'Pears like
it does to this child. That it does."

Birdwhistle chuckled. "Like you said, it all
petered out. Me and some others hung on for a while, takin' few furs
and tradin' them for nothin'. Then we tried that new wrinkle,
hide-huntin'."

"
Poor doin's."

"
And poorer because of the bunch I was with.
There was one man, the ringleader, scared the shit out of me."
Birdwhistle drank and shook his head. "The broodiest bastard I
ever see. Turn on you for nothin'. He killed two men to my knowin'."

Summers took his turn at the jug. "Some's like
that."

"
A bragger, too. Taken a little drunk he would
tell as how he killed his friend."

"
I heard tell of one case like that."

"
What did he kill him for?"

"I never got the straight of it."

"This broody bastard said his best friend was
slippin' it to his squaw and even birthed a child by him. That was in
Blackfoot country."

Summers asked, "Blackfoot?"

"So he said. I figure he was warnin' us to lay
off whatever squaw he had taken up with. Then again he would be dead
quiet and grumpy, like as if he couldn't get along with hisself.
Better leave him plumb alone then. Broody was what they called him,
not when he was around."

"
Just Broody, huh?"

"
To his face we called him Boone."

Without knowing it until it was done, Summers sucked
in a deep breath. "Last name Caudill?"

"
Come to think on it, maybe it was. Know him?"

Know him! Know Boone Caudill? Know Jim Deakins, the
friend Boone had killed. Over the few years there had been the three
of them, all friends, so he had thought, partners in hardship and
frolic, until he had felt too old for the life and left them before
they set out for the north country. They mixed in his mind, they and
what they had done, and he forgot to answer until the man asked
again, "Did you?"

"
Yup. I knew him."

"
Beggin' your pardon, but can I ask the name
that you go by?"

"
Dick Summers."

The man whistled a low whistle. "Dick Summers!"
He held out his hand for a shake. "Never expected to meet up
with you."

"
Where were they when you last heard?"

"
Broody and that bunch? Tradin' at Bent's Fort,
but that was a time ago. You aim to find them?"

"
Might run into them. Who knows?"

"
Watch out for that Broody."

"
Yeah."

Birdwhistle sat silent. A little flare of the fire
deepened his wrinkles. At last he said, "Someone's bound to kill
him, but it won't be me."

"
Yeah."

"
Killin' his friend over a squaw for God's
sake!"

"
And the friend never done him wrong."

"
How you know?"

"
I knew the friend."

"
Beggin' your pardon again, but you got a
grudge?"

"
I don't know as killin' a man ever sets things
right."

The man took a long look at him and said at the end
of it, "I wouldn't want to be Broody."
 
 

3

CURTIS MACK sat on a downed log and smoked his first
pipe of the day. He was tired, as everyone else was, and ought to be
up helping pitch camp, but for a moment damned if he wouldn't just
sit and pull.

It was raining again, if that was news, raining a
mist with few real drops in it. Low in the west the sun was drowning,
yet an hour or so of daylight remained. Tomorrow they'd take the day
off, he and the single men who were trailing livestock overland from
the Dalles to the Willamette where the Oregon party would claim them.
A day off was justified, for here they were without the loss of a
single animal and the hardest going was surely behind them. An insane
thing, to volunteer to lead the crew, but by God he was doing it.

Higgins was undoing the packs and taking out cooking
utensils and food. The pack animals, rid of their burdens, had rolled
and gone to drink and were mingling with the other stock, loosely
herded by the men on horseback. The men had little to worry about. On
this upland clearing was water, good feed and soft turf for sore
feet. The riders called out now and then, more to relieve tedium than
to discourage bunch-quitters. Their voices sounded tired and wet.

By and by he and Higgins would put up a fly so the
men could sleep more or less dry, and there was the fire to make and
the meal to be heated. Meal? Salmon and rice again and coffee that
had lost its flavor. With what good nature they could summon, the men
complained of this steady and indifferent fare. Tobacco was
short-rationed, too. The wonder was that the crew wasn't really
grumpy. Higgins stepped toward him and asked, "Hey, you hear a
shot?"

"
Don't think so."

"
Maybe it was just in my mind. No game in this
whole scoop of country, far as we've seen."

"
Nothing to be alarmed about at any rate."

"Higgins shook his head, as if to rid it of
imagined sound, but still said, "I swear it didn't sound much
more'n a whoop and a holler away."

"
Anyhow, we'd better put the fly up and then
start a fire."

"
Yeah."

They strung a rope between two trees at the edge of
the clearing, threw the canvas over it and spread and secured the
sides, tying them to what growth was handy.

Higgins said, "Now I'll gather the makin's of a
fire, if so we can light this damn wet wood."

"
No big hurry. The stock hasn't bedded down
yet."

Higgins sat on the log beside him, saying, "I
don't know about Oregon. It's so goddamn rainy. Here we are, all of
us, smellin' like wet dogs."

"
Wait till we get there. It's too early for
judgments."

"
Maybe so, but first acquaintance ain't
promisin'."

One of the riders called out, and Higgins got up and
squinted.

"
There's a man afoot on the way."

"
I can see him."

"
Got a rifle. Walks like an Injun. Look! Botter
and Moss wavin' him welcome. Damn my soul if it ain't Dick Summers!"

"
It can't be, but still —"

It did turn out to be Summers. He came into camp
smiling, asking, "How be ye?" He shook the offered hands.

"
You don't bring bad news`?" Mack asked,
suddenly fearful.

"
Naw. Naw. All fat and sassy."

"
My wife?"

"
Same with her. I left the bunch on safe water,
making for the Willamette. Could be they're stakin' claims by now,
though it's a mite soon."

The men on horseback had ridden close, casting their
eyes back now and then to make sure the herd was safe. It was.
Through the gathering dark Mack could make out that some of the
animals were lying down.

Mack motioned toward the log he'd been sitting on and
said, "Rest yourself."

Before Mack could speak, Higgins asked the question.
"How come you're here, Dick?"

Summers smiled and answered, "They showed me a
plow, and I took off." His eyes moved from the men to the
resting livestock to the camp, and Mack thought he knew what Summers
had noted. He said, "I had to leave the wagons behind. My
mistake, I suppose. I heard a man named Barstow was building a wagon
road, but it runs south of here, and I counted on a shortcut."

"
Worst part's behind you, I'm thinkin'."

Higgins put in, "Leastwise, we didn't have to
shed any plunder."

"
Thanks to you," Mack answered. Then to
Summers, "He made pack saddles out of some lumber we had. And it
was his idea to lash poles to the sides of the oxen, make rope
platforms behind, load the stuff on and let the poles drag."

"All the same Indians," Summers said.
"Travois."

Mack relighted his pipe. "What the Oregon party
was shy of — what we"re shy of — is what we should have
given thought to. Horseshoes, for heaven's sake. Hig has his tools
but no forge of course, and he has to do what fitting he can with
what few shoes we have." He flung out a hand, feeling the
oversight, himself guilty as any, feeling sore-footed himself. "Sand,
water and rock, what they do to hooves! Painful to watch, I tell
you."

Summers nodded. "Oxen get sore-footed, too, as
you've seen for yourself, but I don't put stock in ox shoes. For not
havin' enough horseshoes, I fault myself some, but that don't help.
For any sore-footed critter the only answer is rest on soft turf."

"
We're resting tomorrow," Mack said.

"Rest and trimmin', which Hig can do."
Summers fell silent, then his gaze went to Higgins. "You reckon
you could make a couple of pack saddles for me?"

"
I come high."

"
Higher'n fresh meat, old hoss?"

Higgins smiled his toothless smile. Looking at him
for an instant, Mack thought how poor a specimen he appeared. Broken
mouth, pinched-up face, thin and gangly frame. Yet he was the best
member of the crew.

"
You might think I can't chaw," Higgins
answered, "but I got some grinders in back, up and down both,
and they team up good. My mouth's waterin', but time you brought us
fresh meat, I could build enough saddles for the cavalry."

"
Hey, wait, Hig," Mack said. "You said
you heard a shot?"

"Thought I did."

"
How about it, Summers?"

"
Could have. Up the line a ways a cow elk
stepped out — only real meat in Oregon, I reckon — and stood
waitin' for me to shoot, and, hearin' your men callin' like with
empty bellies, I obliged. The carcass ain't so far, all gutted out,
ready to cut up and load."

One of the riders said, "Coodbye to that goddamn
salmon," and another followed with, "I just changed my
mind. Never before now did I think the Lord would provide."

"
Botter, Insko," Mack called out. "Catch
up a couple of pack horses and fetch that meat." He turned to
Summers. "Can they find it?"

Summers said to the men, "Stick close to the
bank. The critter's out in the open. I got it flagged."

While Botter and Insko rode out to catch pack horses
and Moss went to keep watch on the stock, Mack said, "Looks like
you're the answer to prayer, Dick."

"
Thank the elk. Me, I been livin' on wild
chicken. Any more of them, and I'll grow feathers or lay an egg."

"
Now to get a good fire going," Mack said.

"
A miracle you want now," Higgins answered.
"Wood wet as water but not much wetter'n me. Rain's let up
anyhow. You got ideas about a fire, Dick?"

"
I've built some."

"
Want to build another?"

"
What you been burnin'?"

Mack answered, "What we can drag in. Downed
stuff. Dead fall. What else?"

Summers was silent.

"
I suppose you know something better?" Mack
hadn't meant to let the edge of irritation get into his voice.

Summers gave him his smile. "You can make out
all right. Done it so far."

"Looky here, Dick," Higgins said. "Don't
get shit in your gizzard. We're askin', friendly."

Not for the first time Mack felt grateful to Higgins.
The man had a habit of seeing and setting things straight.

"Was it me," Summers said then, "I'm
thinkin' I would knock off the low-growin' branches from pine trees.
Most of 'em's dead.

Most of 'em's dry, bein' sheltered by them growin'
above."
 

Mack looked up at the great trees that rose around
the camp. The first branches were far beyond reach, sprouting out
fifty or more feet over their heads. "Good idea," he said,
"if we had some trained monkeys."

Higgins picked up an ax. "I know where some runt
stuff is at. Red meat deserves a good fire, not like sour salmon."

While he was gone, Summers asked, "You got an
old piece of wipe rag — it don't need to be big — and some
grease?"

"
Rags, sure, but grease?"

"
Nice bacon fat," Summers said, grinning.

"
Last I saw of it was far down on the Platte.
But, hey, what about axle grease? I don't know why we brought it
along. No dry axles since we left the wagons."

"
Might do. Won't hurt to try."

Mack went to the packs and returned with a strip of
cloth and a bucket.

Summers spread grease on the rag, sprinkled powder
from his horn on the grease and worked it in.

"
Do you always go to such pains?" Mack
asked.

"
Nope. It's just you wanted a good fire quick
for them steaks."

Higgins came back with an armload of branches.
Summers took one of them, got out his knife and began cutting
shavings, thin as ribbons. Nothing but a razor-sharp blade could do
that, and Mack wondered how the man kept his knife in such shape.