Into the Savage Country (25 page)

He was riding an unshod native pony with a wooden saddle that seemed to be fashioned out of a stump and hempen rope. He carried only a small roll behind him that held, among other things, a tattered buffalo robe. We scanned the desert flats all around but it was just the one man. He rode in past us and went to the edge of the crater and rode along the edge, looking down at our gathered take for the season, then rode back in a loop and came to a stop in front of us, and said, “Hiya.”

“Howdy,” Layton said, not friendly.

The rider had long brown hair that fell around his face. There were scars on the right side of his face and the hair of his beard did not entirely cover it. He carried a Sheffield knife at the side and a smaller dagger at the front. There were feathers hanging from either side of his cap and beaded sheepskin on the fringes.

“You searching us?” Branch asked.

“Following your path. I’m going up to the big lake near the Tetons.”

“Ain’t going in the right direction for that,” Glass said.

“Savages sent me scattering.”

“Red Elk’s band?” Branch said.

“I veered from them, same as you did.”

“But we’re not going to the same place,” Smith said. “Our path makes sense for us. Not for you if you’re going to the big lake.”

“Took a roundy way to be safe,” he said.

He had only one pack horse with few provisions and no lodge and no meat or furs to speak of.

“Traveling light for a long trip,” Branch said.

“I move quicker that way.”

“Not much quicker than us. We saw you this morning.”

“I’m steady,” he said, and grinned. He was missing some teeth in front. As he spoke his eyes were moving all over our position. He was taking in our weapons, our fur, each of our faces, and casting glances over the edge of the crater into the gloom of the canyon where the horses were jostling and snorting.

“Took in quite a haul,” he said.

“Passable,” Layton said. “Native furs of little worth.”

Glass thrust a gourd with a cork stopper at him. “Drink.”

“I’ll have a swaller. Long as it’s not poisoned,” he said.

He gave a gap-toothed grin as he said this. Glass did not smile back but just kept holding the gourd out. The trapper hesitated, then took the gourd and pried the stopper off and drank one swallow. Then he capped the gourd and handed it back.

“Are you the owner?” he said to Layton.

“I am,” Layton said and held his hand out. “Henry Layton.”

The man shook his hand.

“Bill Callahan,” he said.

“Never heard of a trapper by that name,” Glass said.

“Now you have,” he said.

“You’re free to ride with us,” Layton said.

“Just the drink,” he said.

“Stay the night.”

“Nope. Gotta keep moving,” he said.

To arrive at dusk and not stay the night with a larger brigade was unheard of. The rider was already turning his horse.

“Just passing through. Thanks for the hospitality.”

He started off slowly, all of us watching him. We knew we’d just been surveyed. We could have stopped him by shooting him, but that was the only way. Branch raised his weapon but Smith waved him off. The rider had taken account of our position and fortifications and the number of packs we carried. We could only hope that what he saw of our preparations would prevent any attack.

The man rode for ten minutes to the north and he was just a speck on the horizon when he turned west. After another ten minutes he’d turned back south, making a large loop around us. He must have known we were watching. I guessed at that point he didn’t care.

“You see any sign of anyone else?” Layton asked.

“Nope,” Smith said. He looked to the west and then back to the south.

“Don’t mean they’re not out there,” Glass said.

“Nope,” Smith said, again.

“That dust we saw wasn’t from just one man,” Ferris said.

“Nope,” Smith said.

Through all this Glass gazed at the ground two feet in front of him. Ferris also seemed puzzled by something. Smith looked over at them and after a moment said, “What is it, Ferris?”

“I know him,” Ferris said.

“Had the same feeling,” Glass said.

“He was a friend of Grignon’s,” Ferris said slowly. “Do you remember? At the surround. Grignon was tormenting a wounded buffalo. He had a friend.”

“Bouchet,” Glass said.

“Didn’t have the scars or the long hair then. But it’s the same man.”

The rest of us all remembered at once.

“Branch. Get that blackguard Grignon up here,” Smith said, but Bridger and Branch were already sidestepping down the edge of the crater. They made their way into the canyon and at the same moment both cried out.

Ten steps into the canyon Pegleg lay facedown with his throat slit, a large splash of blood in the dirt. By the prints we understood that there had been many natives hidden in the canyon before our arrival. There were no horses left in the canyon. They had all been taken. Every one. We had not a single horse left. Grignon had vanished.

We remembered that it was Grignon who had informed us of the location of that water hole and had guided us there. In a single moment I realized I’d lost a good friend, my fortune, and my future happiness with Alene, as without horses I would not make it back to the settlement before springtime.

As it grew dark Smith arranged us into defensive positions and we watched as fires appeared to the east and north. Many drums and savage cries and chanting filled the night. I lay there, gun pointed into the darkness, and thought how close we had come to succeeding, and how a single man, if well placed and sufficiently treacherous, can bring down the good work and preparation of much better men.

After midnight Smith came to my fortification and said, “Stretch your limbs, Wyeth, or are you afraid of a little scraping?”

I was led into the narrow arm of the canyon where the horses had been corralled and Ferris and Layton were already waiting. Smith and Branch had dug a grave for Pegleg using a knife and an iron bar from a pannier and the one shovel. Layton, Ferris,
and I took over, and for several hours we expanded a hollow in the bank. It was pitch black in the canyon, and as we worked we cursed Grignon and invented methods of torment for him—scalping, cutting off limbs, cooking his innards—and with each imagined atrocity we laughed and then laughed some more and were then overtaken by a giddy, manic, abject hilarity. Odd. Pegleg dead and us on the scaffold and my future happiness dashed. Mostly, I remember laughing.

After several hours we were relieved by Bridger and Branch and just before dawn we gathered to bury Pegleg. In the dim light I looked into the face of my dead friend for the last time, and I thought that if Grignon were in front of me I would have committed depredations that would have outdone those of the savages.

Having interred Pegleg, we took half the pelts and piled them in the hastily constructed cache and covered it with dirt, which was stomped down and smoothed with branches from a shrub. We threw the remaining dirt into the stream and wiped out our footprints and tried to smooth away any sign that anyone had been there. We thought, perhaps, it would be the means of salvaging half the season, if we could survive.

As the light rose we saw what we were up against. There were more than a hundred natives in a half circle around our encampment, some waiting with their lances raised, others dashing back and forth, but none approaching the crater.

Beyond the natives, about half a mile away, there was a low point we could not see, but by the dust and the smoke from fires we could tell it was occupied by many men.

After an hour of waiting the natives quieted and a gap formed in the ring and a single man on horseback started out from the main body. Smith glassed the rider and something settled over
his features. He handed the glass to Layton who looked for a moment, moved his mouth around, and lowered the glass.

“Pike,” he said. Then, “Come on, Wyeth. You pointed a gun at him last time you saw him. You can do it again with the savages behind him.”

Layton, Smith, and I started out across the desert on foot. We stopped a hundred yards out from the crater and Pike rode toward us slowly. I could see that he was enjoying himself. He dismounted and took his time picketing his horse. As he did it five British trappers in deerskins rode out and stopped behind him, muskets pointed toward us, in case we had thoughts of blasting him and ending his life with our own.

“Henry Layton,” Pike said as he walked up, extending his hand. “How good to see you.”

“I believe it must be pleasant for you,” Layton said, ignoring his hand.

“Our company was passing through these territories, which will soon be ours, and we saw what appeared to be a brigade of trappers stranded without horses. We have come to your aid just as you came to the aid of my men.”

“Wonderfully coincidental,” Layton said.

“I have some influence with the natives. I can transport you to safety at Flathead Post for the customary price that you have already established.”

“Two packs of fur is the customary price,” Layton said.

“The price, which you established, is all the pelts gathered in exchange for your lives. I will take all your pelts. You are free to accompany us to safety.”

“I’d rather slit my throat,” Layton said.

“I believe the natives will accommodate you in that,” Pike said. Then to Smith, “I apologize Jedediah. You are in bad company.”

“I have grown to appreciate my company more than ever,” Smith said. “In the spring we inadvertently came upon three Snake natives who were stealing from us on your orders. We saved them from the Gros Ventre at the cost of two packs of fur. You have purposefully lured us into a trap at the cost of many times that amount of pelts and at the cost of a good man’s life.”

“I did not sanction that.”

“It happened all the same. He lies back in the drainage with his throat slit. Pegleg Cummins, from Mississippi.”

“It was not my doing,” Pike said.

“It was the result of your treachery.”

“The treachery was not mine but one of your own brigade. I was simply invited to profit from it, same as you were before.”

Smith looked away and spoke bitterly. “We may have taken too many pelts from the Snake, but it was not by design, and there was no treachery involved. You realize that.”

“Of course he realizes it,” Layton said acidly. “Why even talk to the blackguard? He simply wants our furs.”

“And I will have them,” Pike said. He turned on Layton with a sudden, steely annoyance. “Henry Layton, winner of friends and protector of old ladies. Since our last encounter I have made inquiries and heard of your adventures along the wharfs in St. Louis. You of all people should not talk of leading others to their demise. You are not well remembered, either at home or abroad.”

“I cannot speak for others,” Smith said, “but he is well-liked in this brigade among those who know him best.”

Layton nodded to Smith with genuine gratitude. “Thank you, Jedediah.”

“What I have said is true,” Smith said. “You have become an able captain and trapper. All have noted it.”

Even at that moment, Layton beamed with pleasure.

“I thank you again.”

“You two will have much time to bask in your mutual appreciation,” Pike said. “Step away from your weapons and let my men approach or we will cut you down.”

Smith began to step away but at that moment a horseman broke from the ranks of natives and rode toward us. Pike waved the horseman off, but the rider kept coming. It was Grignon. He was wearing a new deerskin jacket and his cheeks were clean-shaven and he had gotten oil from somewhere for his mustache. In a day he had transformed himself into a British dandy.

Layton and I reached for our weapons, but Smith made a hissing sound and we lowered them reluctantly.

“Morning, Layton. Morning, Captain,” Grignon said in a particularly jaunty tone.

“Back in the ranks,” Pike said.

“You ought to be thanking me, not giving orders,” Grignon said airily to Pike. “I have just made you a fortune.”

“And yourself one,” Pike said.

Smith watched Grignon steadily with absolute hatred.

“Pegleg lies with his throat slit,” Smith said. “He was a good man and a loyal friend. I will make it my life’s work to repay that treachery.”

It was said simply and with absolute conviction. Grignon tried to appear unaffected, though his voice shook.

“Pegleg was given a choice,” Grignon said.

“I know the sort of choice you gave him. He would not betray his friends or his country so you killed him for it. I will track you down, Grignon.”

“And if Smith doesn’t find you, I will,” Layton said.

Grignon sniffed and looked away. “I will make it easy for
both of you. You can find me next in London at the Manor House. Good day,” he said.

Grignon started back. Pike held his mouth shut, displeased. He had not wanted that interchange and it was clear he disliked Grignon.

“Now it is you who have aligned yourself with savory companions,” Smith said sarcastically to Pike. “You will regret it.”

“Perhaps I will regret having to associate with your pleasant countryman. I already regret his tone and will correct that when I have the chance. I feel he will never be a true member of our brigade. I will make up for the unpleasant association with a successful return on the season and the knowledge that the boundaries of this region will be redrawn in our favor. Very soon I will no longer have to debate about where I place my flag. I repeat what I said before, Jedediah. You are a solid fellow. When the land officially changes ownership I expect to find you looking for a job and will gladly hire you.”

“You are overly optimistic about the new borders.”

“I am optimistic, but understandably so,” Pike said. “We control all the land between the mountains and have just secured the largest return in the history of the entire country. You can leave your companions and come with us now, if you like. Or you can return to this country in several years’ time. A British brigade awaits you.”

Smith turned and looked away. He said nothing.

“Then I leave you to your fate,” Pike said, and turned to go, but Layton stopped him, saying, “We gave your natives horses when we rescued them. If you mean to offer a fair exchange, leave us seven horses so we can return to our country.”