by John Legg
Squire glanced over his shoulder and saw Li’l Jim and Train reloading their weapons. Carpenter stood beside them, ready to fire.
The grizzly struggled to rise, but soon collapsed and lay, body twitching.
“Shoot him again, lads,” Squire said as he stood and swiped at the blood on his forehead. “Just to be makin’ sure.”
Li’l Jim stepped a little closer and fired a ball into the bear’s neck. The animal quivered on for several more minutes. Then it was still at last.
Squire nodded. He picked up his pistol, reloaded it and stuck it in his belt. “Abner, Hank, we’d best see to Tobias.” He patted at the oozing wound on his forehead with the bottom of his filthy shirt. “Li’l Jim, keep your eyes peeled.”
Squire hurried over and knelt at Whitaker’s side. He stared down at the limp, bloody youth. He saw Whitaker’s chest rise and fall in shallow, pain-racked breaths. “Mon Dieu,” Squire mumbled. “He be a right goddamn shinin’ mess, ain’t he?”
Train and Carpenter blanched when they looked at their companion’s bloody body.
“He gonna make it?” Train asked, looking a little green.
“Can’t be sayin’. But we’ll be doin’ for him all we can. We’d best be gettin’ him back where we can take better care of him. We can’t do much for him here. Abner, ye and Li’l Jim go fetch the horses. Hank, see if’n ye can find two good long poles. We passed a little stand of cottonwoods not far back. That might do.”
As the others rushed off to their tasks, Squire gently lifted Whitaker’s bloody shirt. He wiped some of the seeping blood away from the flesh so he could check the wounds. As he did, he talked softly to the youth, even though the young man’s eyes were closed.
“Don’t ye go frettin’ now, lad,” Squire said softly. “We’ll be makin’ camp and tendin’ to ye proper real soon.”
But he was certain Whitaker would not last out the night. Probably not even the afternoon. The bear’s fangs had all but pierced the young man’s skull, cracking it and leaving two small punctures. Whitaker’s face, chest and arms bore deep furrows where the grizzly’s claws had mauled him. And one shoulder was mangled, with a chunk of flesh more than two inches around torn out, clear down to the bone.
Squire shook his head. “Aye, lad,” he said soothingly, “you’ll be all right. Don’t ye go worryin’ none. It ain’t really so bad. Just a few scratches is all.”
Train and Li’l Jim rushed up with the horses, while Squire reloaded his rifle. “Fetch me the water sack,” he ordered.
Train did, and Squire carefully poured a little water into Whitaker’s parched mouth. He used a little more to wash off the worst of the wounds. “That be all I can do for him here. I ain’t aimin’ to bandage him here with what we have to hand.”
Within minutes Carpenter ran up dragging two poles about eight feet long each. “Will these do?” she asked, puffing.
“Aye.” Squire quickly laid out his large sleeping robe. He placed the poles on it angled in so they touched at one end while the other ends stayed spread wide. He weaved the robe around the poles so that it fashioned a hammock.
He tied together the two ends of the poles where they touched and lifted that end until it was on the rump of a pack horse. He quickly lashed it tight. As he worked, he turned to Train. “Take your ’hawk and cut the teeth and claws from that b’ar. If’n Tobias lives through all this, he’ll be wantin’ ’em. Or I will,” he added pointedly.
“Li’l Jim, ye start peelin’ that b’ar’s hide. It’ll make a prime sleeping robe.”
The two men set to their tasks as Squire worked to finish the travois. When he was done, he gently lifted Whitaker and set him on the sleeping robe. He had Carpenter fetch a blanket, and they covered up the suffering young man.
The trip back to the brigade was agonizingly slow, and the men winced every time a moan of pain drifted up from the semiconscious Whitaker.
Finally they spotted their companions.
Squire raced ahead of the others. “Homer!” he yelled when he got close enough to be heard. “Make camp. ”
Without argument, Bellows began shouting orders.
Melton loped up. “What’s wrong, Nathaniel?” he asked, alarmed. “Later. Just lend a hand where ye can.”
“But there is no wood here. No water.”
Melton seemed to shrivel under the harsh stare Squire fixed on him. “We’ll be done shortly,” he said in hushed tones.
The others rode in with Whitaker, and all the hands gathered around, full of questions. They were quieted by Squire’s bellowed “Merde, get to work!”
Chapter Seventeen
MELTON had sized up the situation as soon as Whitaker was brought into camp. As the other men drifted back to their chores, Melton hurried over to where Squire was easing the travois off the horse.
He held out a small leather satchel. “It’s not much, Nathaniel,” he said, “but here are the medicines we have along.”
“Bon. Set ’em down here and send somebody to fetch whate’er clean clothes can be found. Some whiskey, too. And get e’er man in camp chewin’ tobacco to beat all hell. Li’l Jim, get a fire burnin’.”
“With what? There ain’t no wood.”
“Buffalo chips, boy.” He interrupted Bellows and Melton, who were shouting orders, trying to get the camp together. “We’ll be stayin’ here a few days, if’n need be, Colonel.”
“Understood.”
Squire had Whitaker, still wrapped in the robe of the travois, on the ground. Train and Carpenter stood nearby, looking useless. “Go’n fetch another water sack, Abner. And Hank, fetch up a small cookin’ pot,” Squire ordered.
As the camp shaped up, the men began to gather round again, some carrying armfuls of buffalo chips for fuel or clean clothes for bandages. One man brought a jug of whiskey. The others came simply to gawk and mutter fearfully in hushed tones amongst themselves. With as much gentleness as he could muster, Squire sliced off the tattered, blood-soaked rag that had been Whitaker’s shirt and threw it into the small, pungent, hot fire. He washed the oozing wounds as best he could with the water, and then doused them with whiskey.
The sting of the alcohol brought Whitaker’s eyes wide open. He hissed, drawing in a sharp breath with the pain. “My God,” he muttered, then fell back into unconsciousness.
“You’ll be all right, lad,” Squire said softly, more for the others’ benefit than Whitaker’s. He opened the leather satchel and rummaged around. He found small bottles of laudanum, cayenne pepper from which to brew a tea, saltpeter, sodium bicarbonate, ipecac and what Squire presumed to be sumac root.
He pulled out the laudanum. He would rather just use whiskey, since he did not trust the medicines from back east and because he knew of their propensity for serious harm if overused. But he figured Melton—and any of the others who had seen any doctoring done—would feel better if the laudanum was used.
Into the small cooking pot, Squire poured about an inch of whiskey. He reached into his small possible bag and pulled out sinew, wrapped around a twig, and a bone needle. He dropped both into the whiskey, aware of the heavy silence of the men, the buzzing of mosquitoes and flies, the trilling of birds, and the far-off snuffle of buffalo.
He pulled out the needle and unwrapped some of the sinew. He attached the threadlike material to the needle. He looked up at the sea of solemn faces. “Colonel, ye ’n’ Abner get down here and clamp ahold of Tobias. I don’t want him jumpin’ about and hurtin’ himself e’en more.”
The two did as they were told, Melton with his face grim, since he had seen this before; Train’s was pale.
“Bon. Li’l Jim, take up this here bottle of laudanum.” He handed it to the youth. “If’n Tobias wakes up, get a jolt of it down his gullet. But not too much, boy, hear. Too much and he’ll go under afore we can do anythin’ for him.”
Li’l Jim nodded tightly, afraid. Squire hunched over Whitaker and jabbed the needle through a flap of skin on Whitaker’s chest. The youth stirred feebly un
der the strong hands of Melton and Train, but he did not gain consciousness. Squire pulled the sinew through, not noticing that two of the camp helpers turned and hurried away. Moments later their retching could be heard.
With all the gentleness he could muster while still trying to move quickly, Squire stitched up the youth’s chest wounds. Part of the way along, Whitaker jerked awake, eyes wide and glaring at nothing. He screamed.
Li’l Jim was taken aback by the suddenness of it. But he recovered quickly and dumped some laudanum down Whitaker’s throat when he tried to scream again. Almost automatically, he clamped a hand over Whitaker’s mouth and nose, so Whitaker had to swallow.
It took but a few moments for the medicine to take effect, and when it did, Squire went back to his silent, grim work. When he was done, he rocked back on his heels and surveyed his handiwork. It wasn’t pretty, he knew, but if he had anything to say about it, Whitaker would live. If not, the neatness of his work would not matter.
“All right,” Squire said a little wearily, “some of ye boys get o’er here and spread your tobacco o’er that wound.” He wished he had some yarrow root or one of the other roots or herbs the Indians had taught him made good poultices. But he didn’t, and this would have to do.
The men moved in close and hesitated briefly before they spit the brown globs into their hands and then rubbed the tobacco into the wounds.
Patiently Squire cleaned the head wounds off with water, and then a sprinkling of whiskey. He spread more tobacco on those wounds before bandaging them with some of the fancy linens that Strapp had insisted on bringing when they had abandoned his wagon. It pained Strapp to see his shirts sliced into bandages, but even he dared not say anything about it.
The shoulder wound was another matter. Squire thought to wrap it in wet buckskin and then let it dry so the leather would form a solid sheath, protecting the wound. But he was not sure it would work, and thought it might even do some harm. Instead, he settled for cleaning the deep wound and then bandaging it.
He indicated that Melton and Train should raise Whitaker up and hold him in a sitting position. When they did, Squire quickly cleaned out the shallow ruts carved in Whitaker’s back by the bear. He wrapped soft linen bandages all the way around, covering both back and chest wounds. Then, hurriedly, he tied strips of buckskin around Whitaker’s back, chest and left arm, holding the arm tight against his body.
At last he nodded, and Train and Melton eased Whitaker down onto the soft buffalo robe. The two men were sweating as they looked over at Squire. The mountain man appeared tired, but calm.
“Colonel, best set a plan to have at least two of the lads settin’ with Tobias the night through.” When Melton nodded, he said, “Whoever be keepin’ the watch, dose Tobias with whiskey if’n he wakes. But ye best be warnin’ ’em that I said they’re not to be tastin’ that whiskey themselves.”
He walked off with Bellows, Train, Carpenter, Benji, Li’l Jim and, to his surprise and annoyance, Strapp. The priggish Easterner looked ill. The Colonel stayed behind to assign men to watch over Whitaker before catching up to them at the fire.
The camp hands had smoky, pungent fires of buffalo chips going, and fresh meat was cooking.
“Do you think he’ll live, Nathaniel?” Melton asked.
“Ain’t got much hope for it. He’s hurt plumb bad, and there ain’t nothin’ more we can be doin’ for him. We’ll stay here tomorrow and then decide what to do.”
“You expect him to die before tomorrow’s over, don’t ya?” Benji demanded. “That’s why we’re stayin’, ain’t it? So’s we can bury him?”
“Aye, lad, there be a good chance he’ll die afore the morrow ends. But he might not. It be up to him now whether he lives or goes under. But we’ll not be abandonin’ him.”
“He’s such an almighty thin fellow,” Melton said with sorrow. “It doesn’t seem he’s got the strength to carry him through this.”
“Don’t be so sure, Colonel,” Li’l Jim said. “I’ve worked with him a time or two since we left St. Louis and he’s a heap stronger’n you might think.”
“What do you know of him?”
“Not too awful much. He’s a pretty closemouthed one. He don’t talk much less’n it concerns his religion and doin’ what he thinks is the right thing. He’s argued with Shanks about it regular since we set out. Maybe you should talk to him.”
“Fetch him, would ye, boy,” Squire said, taking a piece of meat. He blew on it a bit, cooling it enough to eat.
Within minutes Li’l Jim was back with a dirty-looking young man. He was maybe a little less than medium height, and quite round. The lower half of his chubby face was covered by a thick tangle of pitch-black beard. He was of the type that would have to shave four times a day to keep it down to a stubble. In his hand was his Bible. He carried it in his personal possible bag and took it out to read at every opportunity. He was shy and diffident in the presence of Melton and Squire.
“I hear ye know somethin’ of Tobias,” Squire said.
“A little.”
“Sit, lad, and have some meat.”
When Shanks had done so, Squire said, “Tell us what ye know, lad.”
Shanks chewed a piece of meat and swallowed before saying, “Well, sir, he follows some new religious leader. I believe he said the preacher’s name was Finney. Yep,” Shanks nodded, “that was it, the Reverend Charles Finney.”
He chewed another piece of meat. “He’s got some mighty strange ideas for someone who’s supposed to be Christian folk. That’s what him ’n’ me used to argue over all the time. He knew his Scriptures, all right, but I reckon he and his kind just don’t understand ’em. For instance, he said more’n once that it was usual for folks durin’ those revival meetin’s to dance all about and speak in tongues. I’ve seen such things.” He shrugged. “He often railed on against the evils of man—which is one of the few things he ’n’ I agreed about. But, still ...” He paused. “Good Lord, he said this Pastor Finney even had the womenfolk prayin’ right there in the presence of the men.” He shook his head, amazed.
“He also told me that he had heard about the Injuns out West and was of a mind to see if they was as bad as folks liked to say. He never said, but I sort of figured he had some lunatic idea of maybe tryin’ some missionary work with ’em. Can you believe such a thing?” He shook his head again in wonderment.
“It’s a puzzlement how he come to be that way. He’s from Maine, he said, and those folks know their Bible well, and they got mostly the right ideas. How he come to follow this Finney fellow sure makes you wonder. I’ve been at a few of those revival meetin’s, as they call ’em, and those folks who follow such things sure have some queersome ideas.”
He shrugged. “I don’t know much else about him. He did say he used to work off a small boat, haulin’ fish from the sea. That’s hard work, I reckon. I ’spect he never filled out any, like some folks do.” He looked a little embarrassed at his own corpulence. Squire nodded, and Melton said, “Thank you, Mr. Shanks.” Shanks left, and Squire said, “Mayhap his God’ll see to savin’ him. We’ve done all we could.”
“Perhaps,” Melton nodded. “Now, Nathaniel, let’s see about getting you fixed up.”
“Ain’t much to be done, Colonel.” He pulled off the rag and allowed Train to cleanse the shallow trenches with water and whiskey and then wrap his head in a clean bandanna.
When it was done, the men helped themselves to half-cooked deer meat and coal-baked yams.
Chapter Eighteen
As the men lounged back, Squire and Melton packing their pipes, Melton asked, “What happened to Tobias? You never did say.”
“Griz got him,” Squire said after lighting his pipe.
Melton nodded. “I’ve seen the marks of a bear on more than one unfortunate woodsman. But, Lord, I’ve never seen any as large as these.”
“This ol’ griz were a big one, truth to tell. E’en taller’n me by a heap once he reared up. I were some careless, though, with him.
That’s how I got my face scratched.”
“Careless!” Train snorted. “You fellers should’ve seen Nathaniel. It weren’t for him, Tobias would’ve been dead and ate up by that bear.”
“Yes?” Melton queried, eyebrows raised, looking at Squire.
“Weren’t much, Colonel.”
“Buffalo shit,” Li’l Jim exploded. Melton turned to him in question.
Train and Li’l Jim took turns telling it. They did not even embellish the story—they didn’t need to.
“That was very brave of you, Nathaniel,” Melton said seriously after it was told. He was not entirely sure he believed all the story, but still, if it was true—and he suspected at least most of it was—his respect for Squire would rise considerably.
“Weren’t no bravery to it, Colonel. Just somethin’ that needed doin’ is all.” He rose a little stiffly and walked over to Whitaker. It was growing dark, and he could feel the chill of winter in the October air. The youth was still unconscious, but seemed no worse.
“Make certain he be well-covered through the night,” Squire said to the two young men watching over the wounded youth.
In the morning, Squire found, much to his surprise, that Whitaker was awake. The youth was in pain but said nothing of it, though he did grit his teeth when Squire removed the bandages.
“Take these and wash ’em out, Li’l Jim,” Squire said. “Get the blood out of ’em as best ye can.”
Li’l Jim nodded and trotted off. “Hand me that water, lad,” he said to Train, who squatted on the other side of Whitaker. Squire unstoppered his powder horn.
“What’re ya aimin’ to do?” Train asked, curious.
“Use some powder as a poultice, with the tobacco.”
Squire wet down the tobacco that coated Whitaker’s chest and head and then poured a little gunpowder on all the wounds except the one on the shoulder.
Whitaker sucked in his breath and winced. He mumbled something Squire could not understand.