Ride the River (1983) (17 page)

Something moved again, and I could just make him out. It was a dog, and he was lying near us, seeming to want company.

"It's all right, boy," I whispered. "Go to sleep now."

And I did.

Chapter
17

He was a shepherd dog, mostly black and brown but with some white on his chest and legs, and he looked like he'd been seeing hard times.

"Where'd he come from?" Dorian wanted to know.

"Joined us in the night. Looks like he's been missing some meals."

Archie was putting together a fire. "Coffee in a bit," he said, "and we can broil some meat."

The landing where we'd left the canoe was made of home-cut planks and was old, all gray and silvery and no place for a body to walk with bare feet. There was moss growing on the pilings and every sign it had been there for a long time.

What happened here? I wondered. It was a good place to live, with water and fine timber. Some fields had been cleared but lying unused for a long time now.

We fed the dog some scraps and when we climbed into the canoe he whined, wanting to come. Dorian looked over at me. "What do you think?"

"Why not?" I said, and Archie spoke to the dog and he hopped into the canoe like he'd ridden in one all his life.

"We may be stealing somebody's dog," Dorian said.

"He's homeless," Archie replied. "I can see it in him. Whoever his folks were, they're gone."

Dorian and Archie did most of the paddling but I'd spell first one, then t'other from time to time, giving them some rest. Once in a while there'd be a long straight stretch and we'd look back and see nothing. Nevertheless, I was worried.

"I'd like to ride this river down, sometime," Archie said, "get back some of the work I've put in goin' upriver."

"There's easier ways to go back," I said, thinking of the steamboats that sometimes came up the river from the Ohio to Nashville.

"I can't wait to get back," Dorian said, and I just looked at him, not wishing for him to go at all.

"Have you a girl back there?" I tried to keep my voice casual.

"A few," he said. "It's a wide field and I play the field."

Well, I told myself, that's better than if there was a particular one.

"We'll have you home soon," he added. "Right back with your folks where you belong. Then I'm catching the first stage, steamer, or whatever back to Philadelphia."

Archie glanced at me but he said nothing, nor did I. Maybe Dorian would be better off in Philadelphia. He did not look as handsome as when he started. His clothes were shabby now, and he hadn't shaved in several days. He always combed his hair real careful and he took time to clean up from time to time.

"Even with the water runnin' high," I said, "we're not goin' much further with this canoe. This turns into just water runnin' over rocks a mite further along."

It was that shep dog who saved us. We'd swung wide to come around some drift-logs and brush gathered at a bend of the creek when that dog suddenly come to his feet, every hair bristling, and he began to bark.

"Backwater!" I yelled, most unladylike, and my voice was drowned in the crashing thunder of rifles firing. I dug in with my paddle and Archie with his. A bullet shattered the paddle in my hands, another ripped the front of the canoe, then the current had us back behind that point of driftlogs, the current and Archie's quick reaction to my yell. There was another shot and then I heard swearing and somebody yelled, "... too soon, damn you!"

"Across the creek!" Archie spoke low but quick. "Into the trees!"

The river wasn't wide here and the current helped. For a moment we were visible from upstream and somebody shot, but the bullet missed and then we were back of a timbered point.

We beached the canoe and piled out. "Leave it!" I said.

"Are you hurt?" Dorian was staring at my wrist, which had been cut by flying splinters when the paddle was shot from my hands.

"A scratch," I said. "Let's get away from here!"

They had been laying for us, all set to mow us down, and that shep dog had saved our bacon. When he jumped up and went to barking, he evidently caused those hiding men to shoot too quick. If we'd been a canoe length further up the creek, they'd have killed us all.

We dragged the canoe ashore, taken up our goods and went into the forest.

We had been days on the water and had paid little mind to the forest we were passing through, but this was big timber, giant sycamores, blue beech, river birch, and clumps of black willow, with here and there a table of rhododendrons. There was a game trail taken off toward the mountains, and we taken it, with me leading.

Maybe it was forward of me, bein' a girl and all, but whilst Archie had a knowin' way about him, I didn't think Dorian when it came to trails would know come hither from go yonder, so totin' my bag and my rifle, I just headed off into the tall timber.

What I wanted was a place to hole up and make a stand. Whoever fired on us would be wanting to finish us off, and I didn't know how my outfit would do in an Injun fight amongst the trees. Back toward Pine Mountain there were rock formations, caves, and such. What I wanted was high ground with some rocks and timber, a place with a good field of fire.

I'd never been in a shootin' fight but once, when I was ten, when some raidin' Injuns had come through, but I'd heard Pa, Ethan, Regal, an' them talk about what was needed.

That trail didn't amount to much, but it was going our way and it was climbing along some limestone ridges and through the timber. Nor did the boys argue with me. They seemed to want to get shut of those folks back there just as bad as I did.

Who was it? How had they gotten ahead of us? Or was this Felix Horst with some of his old Natchez Trace outlaw friends?

"You'd better let me carry your carpetbag," Dorian suggested. "Or your rifle."

"Take the bag," I said. "Nobody carries my weapon but me."

Once, stopping to catch our breath after a climb through rocks and trees, I said, "We'd better do some thinkin'. They know where we're a-goin'. They'll cut across an' get ahead of us again. Somewhere up yonder they'll be waitin' for us."

"We lucked out this time," Archie said. "That won't happen again."

We rested there among the pines, watching the country below us. We were tired, and we were scared. I know I was, and Archie's face had a haunted look. Dorian, he was white under the flush the sun had been colorin' him with. Bein' hunted by men who want you dead is no way to live. If it hadn't been for that shep dog we'd all be dead. Where did he come from, out of the night like that? Whose dog was he? Looked to me like he'd been on his own a good while, and it might be his home was far from here.

"We've got to cut them down," I said, "make 'em understand there's a price to pay."

"You mean kill them?" Dorian was shocked.

"They're tryin' to kill us," I said.

"Your Uncle Finian sure wouldn't hesitate," Archie said. "That old man's a holy terror!"

Dorian looked around at him. "What do you mean? UncleFinian ?"

"He went down to the Dutchman's," Archie explained, then repeated the story of the fight in the street.

"Uncle Finian did that?"

"I was with him."

"I can't believe it! Uncle Finian!"

"I can believe it," I said. "That's a tough old gentleman. I could see it in him."

We moved on, Shep trotting ahead, and believe me, I felt better with that dog along. Why he adopted us, I'd never guess, but he surely had.

From time to time we saw deer, and we crossed the trail of a coon. It was coming on to night before we found a ledge masked by trees. It was above the trail we'd been following, and with a fine view of the way we'd come.

"It's a good place to sleep," Dorian said.

We were wearied by the long day, and nobody was of a mind to talk very much. There wasn't much left to eat, but we ate it cold, sharing a mite with the dog. We were on a ledge, a sort of notch in the rock wall, and it was a good tight spot.

"Somewhere yonder," I told them, "is a big ol' pine tree, stands by itself. They call that way the Trail of the Lonesome Pine."

They looked where I pointed, but neither had any comment. It was wild, lonesome country with the breaks of the Big Sandy lyin' close by. Right at that moment I wanted most of all just to be home.

We made us a fire you could put in a teacup, almost, and made coffee. When we'd had our coffee, we left the pot on the coals. "You all sleep," I said. "I'll keep watch."

"You?" Dorian said. "Of course not. You sleep. Archie and I will share it."

"There's three of us here," I insisted. "We'll take turn about. That dog's tired too. We shouldn't trust to him."

They slept first, and the wind came down through the pines, moaning a lonesome song. I went over to the little branch that flowed down from a crack in the limestone and had a drink; then I went back to a place I could set with my back against the rock wall and my rifle-gun on my knees.

A couple of times I almost dozed; then I tried making memories come back, something to keep my mind busy. I tried wondering what Regal was doing and how far it was to the Clinch Mountains, where some of us Sacketts lived.

They couldn't be far away. That is, as the crow flies. The trouble was, they had no idea they had kinfolk in trouble. I wished they did. I was scared for me and I was scared for those boys sleepin' yonder. If anything happened to them, I'd never forgive myself.

Right then I began to think like Pa would, or Regal; I began to think about takin' my rifle-gun and playin' Injun down through the woods until I found their camp. If I could catch sight of them, I knew I could leave them with somethin' to bury. A few days ago I'd not have thought seriously of that, but when folks you care about are in danger, you do get to thinkin' such thoughts.

This was a part of the country I knew only from hear-tell, but often of an evening when the boys were settin' around they'd talk of lands where they'd hunted and how the land lay. That's all we knew of much of the country around, yet it was all we needed.

Suddenly that shep dog lifted his head from his paws, he lifted his head and he started to growl, away down deep in his chest.

"Easy, boy!" I whispered. "Easy, now!"

I reached out with my rifle muzzle and prodded Dorian, hoping he'd wake up quiet. There's some who grunt and groan or wake up exclaimin'. He didn't, I'll give him that. His eyes opened and he followed the rifle barrel to me. I put my finger to my lips and indicated the dog, his hackles all bristled up. Dorian reached out a hand, and Archie sat up, drawing his pistol.

The little fire we'd had had gone out, long since. There was no light but from the stars, and few of them. We sat quiet, listening.

We heard faint sounds from the woods, expected sounds. Then a whisper of movement down below where we lay on the ledge. If we kept silent, they might not even guess there was a ledge or a place for us to hide. I held my rifle-gun ready, but I didn't cock it. That sound could he heard sharp and clear in the night.

A low wind stirred the leaves and moaned through the pines. My mouth was dry, and I could feel my heart beating, slow and heavy.

Something was moving down there, working its way through the woods. We waited, holding our breath, but it moved off, and after a time we began to breath easy again.

Setting there, to keep myself busy, I rigged a sling with which to carry my carpetbag easier. Something I could hang down my back from a shoulder.

Right back of where I sat was the limestone cliff, topped with pines and a scattering of other trees. On my left the cliff broke off and thick forest swept away down along the mountain.

I stood up, slinging my carpetbag to try it, taking up my rifle. The dog was not a dozen feet away, peering into the darkness. "No, Shep," I whispered. "Ssh!"

I was standing in the shadows and I moved toward that place where the cliff broke off into the forest. It was darker there and I would be able to see better when I looked back.

Dorian was on his feet; Archie squatted against the rock wall.

Shep came suddenly to his feet, staring at the trees on the other side of the clearing and growling, low and deep.

Archie had his gun out, waiting.

"Don't you make a move!" The voice spoke from the darkness across the way. "Don't you make a move!"

Chapter
18

Three years back, when he saw that wall of water comin' down the gorge, he thought he was a goner. Thing that saved him was that yellow poplar right there on the rising edge of the gorge, and he taken to it, making a fast jump to the first limb and then climbing higher. The water kept him there all day and part of the night, but he'd not forgotten what he saw.

Big old logs were coming down that gorge like shot from a gun, and later when the water was down he went below where they hit the main river, and there they were, all floating pretty as you please in a little bay.

Trulove Sackett was not a man to overlook a thing like that, so he fetched his calk boots and pike pole and he worked out on those logs, cutting the limbs with his ax and bunching them. When he had a log raft made, he packed some grub and floated them down the river to sell.