by John Legg
“What’d ye say, lad?”
“Just askin’ the Almighty’s help,” Whitaker gasped, unashamed.
Squire nodded. “I sting ye some?”
“Yup.”
“It’ll be o’er afore ye know it.”
Carpenter arrived and crouched near Train, but not too close. A few minutes later Li’l Jim ran up with the washed bandages. “We’re near out of water, Nathaniel,” he said.
Squire nodded. “We’ll see to it later, lad.”
While Train held a praying Whitaker up, Squire and Li’l Jim rewrapped the bandages around him. Done, they eased Whitaker back down, and Squire reached for the jug of whiskey. “Ain’t ya gonna use laudanum again?” Train asked.
“Too much laudanum’ll do him more harm than—” He stopped as he lifted an empty jug. He remained still, letting the sunburst of anger settle down and then ease away some. He spoke in a voice that belied the anger that still bubbled beneath the surface. “Li’l Jim, go’n fetch another of the whiskey jugs.”
When the youth had left, Squire said, “Laudanum be powerful stuff, lad. ’Less’n Tobias needs it, I’d be feelin’ better to just use whiskey.”
Li’l Jim returned. Squire held Whitaker’s head up. “Here now, lad, ” he said, lifting the jug to Whitaker’s lips with his other hand, “be takin’ some of this down.”
“No!” It was said loudly and firmly, but then Whitaker moaned from the pain the effort produced.
“Ye got to, boy.”
“No.” It was said more calmly this time, but just as firmly.
“ Tis not right by the Lord. It’s against the Almighty’s wishes. ‘They are swallowed up of wine.’”
“Like hell. But I ain’t gonna argue with ye o’er it. Just think of it as medicine, which it be in this case.”
Whitaker looked doubtful. “Your God ain’t got nothin’ agin dosin’ an ailin’ person with laudanum, does He?”
“No.”
“Well this here be the same as laudanum for your purposes,” Squire said soothingly. “Ye wouldn’t really be drinkin’ liquor, so ye’d be doin’ nothin’ against your God. And e’en if’n ye was, boy, I’d be forcin’ it on ye, and I ’spect God’d be forgivin’ ye for that.” Whitaker nodded weakly, and opened his mouth. Squire poured some of the fiery liquid down the youth’s throat. After a moment, Whitaker moved his mouth away from the bottle, gasping and choking on the whiskey.
“Best to be havin’ more, lad.”
“Enough,” Whitaker cracked.
“I’ll be sayin’ when ye’ve had enough. Just a wee bit more now.” Whitaker was too weak to argue, and so did as he was told. It took very little to make him woozy.
“You’ll be asleep agin afore long, lad. Just close your eyes and rest now. Won’t be no more pain that way.”
As Whitaker closed his lids, Squire rose. “Li’l Jim, go’n find Benji. When ye do, fetch all the water sacks in camp, ’cept this one and mayhap one more. Have Cletus cut ye out an extra horse or two. Then go get us some water. You’ll most likely find some half a day’s ride due west, though it might take a little more. Fill all the water sacks and head on back here as soon’s ye get ’em filled.”
Li’l Jim thought to argue. Well, not argue, but maybe tease the big mountain man. But he saw the look on Squire’s face and knew this was not the time. “We’ll be back before ya know we’re gone,” he said, spinning and rushing off, calling out, “Benji. Hey, Benji.” Squire turned back. “I want ye two,” he said to Train and Carpenter, “to be keepin’ a close watch on Tobias here. And to that jug.” He pointed to the whiskey. “If’n anybody— anybody—in this camp puts his hand to that jug for his own use, you’re to shoot him down. Ye understand?” His voice was harsh.
They both nodded, frightened, even though they did not really understand. Of course, it was clear as to what they were supposed to do, but not the why of it.
“Ye fail in this, lads,” Squire said tightly, “you’ll be answerin’ to me direct.”
He strode off. When he rejoined those who sat around his fire, he noticed that Strapp was bleary-eyed, woozy. Without warning, Squire grabbed him by the shirtfront and yanked him to his feet.
“I told ye and all the others to be lettin’ that whiskey be, ye citified son of a bitch,” he roared. “Ye took it upon yourself to go agin my orders, goddammit, and I don’t take a shine to such doin’s.”
“What’s wrong, Nathaniel?” Melton asked. “What are you doing?”
Squire did not even look at the ponderous former military man. “Ye just keep your nose out of this, Colonel,” he snapped. “Well, William, what’ve ye got to be sayin’ for yourself?”
“I . . . I needed a drink,” he whined. “Unbearable out here. Just one. I didn’t think it would harm anyone if I was to take a mouthful. Medicine. Yes, it was medicine. My rheumatism ...”
“Ye lyin’ son of a bitch. I told ye to leave it be.”
“I know,” Strapp whimpered, squirming with his feet not quite touching the ground. “I just needed a small drink. The journey has been long and difficult for me ...”
“Ye drank the whole goddamn jug.”
“No,” Strapp wailed. “No. I wasn’t alone. It was—” He paused, biting his lower lip. “Someone came along, and we started talking. Before we knew it, the jug was empty.”
“Who?”
“One of the men.”
Squire knew full well who it was. There was only one man in all the camp who would sit the night through with Strapp, drinking.
Squire set the dandy on his feet and shoved him away. “I be warnin’ ye, William, don’t e’er go agin my orders another time. Ye do and I’ll kill ye quicker’n a sick wolf. I’ll be havin’ no truck with anyone who goes agin my directions.”
“That’s a little harsh, Nathaniel,” Melton said. “Indeed, it was wrong for him to have done what he did, but I think you’ve gone too far.”
When Squire turned toward Melton, his face was carved of stone and as cold as mountain ice. “We had us a deal, Colonel, ’less’n ye forgot. Ye want to be backin’ out, ye just tell me and I’ll be ridin’ out.”
“I . . . didn’t mean to question . . . your authority, Nathaniel,” Melton sputtered. “I just thought, under the circumstances, that maybe you were being a little harsh.”
Squire started leaving, but then he stopped. He didn’t reckon the Colonel deserved an explanation, but one might head off future problems.
“Mayhap, Colonel, it be some harsh for your likin’. But I ain’t aimin’ to have my orders took so lightly. Includin’ by ye, if’n it comes to it. These men get in the habit of payin’ no heed to my orders, we just might be in a heap of trouble someday. There’ll come a time when your lives’ll be dependin’ on the orders I be givin’. Disobey ’em then, or argue o’er ’em, and e’erybody might just go under.”
“You’re right, Nathaniel,” Melton said contritely. “Again.”
But Squire was unrelenting. “There be miles to go afore we e’en get to the mountains. Ye start excusin’ a spree e’er time someone sets his mind to it, and we’ll be sorry later. There’ll come a day when we’ll be needin’ that whiskey for medicine. Or to keep the cold out of our bones. Or mayhap to trade to the Injins so’s we can keep our hair.”
Melton nodded, anger at himself rising hard and fast. “It won’t happen again, Nathaniel,” he said stiffly. “It’s no excuse, I know, but my nature is one that either feels the need to issue orders, or to question ones that at first might seem to be wrong. I will,” he said firmly, “endeavor to keep that unfortunate side of my nature in check.”
“I’d be appreciatin’ that, Colonel.” He turned to Strapp. “And you’d be wise to be keepin’ your distance from Willis, William.” When he saw the look in Strapp’s eyes, he smiled fiercely and said, “Who else would ye be havin’ a spree with? But you’ll be comin’ to a bad end, boy, if’n ye keep stickin’ with that good- for-nothin’ bastard.”
Then he turned and stalke
d through the camp, until he found Willis. The stocky man was saddling his horse, his movements slow, as if each motion set his head to hurting.
Squire grabbed Willis’s shoulder and spun him around. Before Willis could react, Squire’s huge right fist connected with his jaw, not far from the almost-mended nose. The blow sent Willis sprawling.
“What in hell was that for’?” Willis raged, trying to clear his head.
“Don’t ye e’er cross me agin, boy. Ye ’n’ William had yourselves quite a spree last night. I’ll not stand for such doin’s when they be agin my orders.”
Willis rose, hate filling his eyes. His hand eased toward his knife, but stopped when he saw Squire’s face. There was death written there. His death if he pulled the knife. He gulped, as fear and hatred twisted his bowels into knots.
“Just ye mind what I said,” Squire said, turning away.
Chapter Nineteen
SQUIRE saddled Noir Astre and rode out, leaving Whitaker in the care of Train and Carpenter. He ranged far and wide, letting the anger within him settle and then dribble away. But, still, a sense of foreboding enveloped him, weighing on his shoulders like a stone.
Even as he rode, his senses worked, taking in everything. There was a mark that showed three Indians—Pawnees—had passed by the day before yesterday; and just this morning, a bear, and a hungry one at that, had ripped the bark off a stunted tree; and, there, two days ago, several coyotes had feasted on the festering remains of an old buffalo left behind by Osage hunters.
The land here was stark, and brown. The grass, which in early summer would be belly-high to a horse, was short and wilted, burned and cropped down by the summer’s heat and the animals. Northwest rose the sand hills that rimmed the Platte River. There would be little game on some of those stretches, and the going would be tough. Perhaps, Squire thought, they should travel north of the river, where the grass was more plentiful, which meant there would be buffalo.
Damn, things were going slow. Too slow. They’d never be able to get a proper winter camp set up in the mountains at this rate. And all the good wintering places—those with wood and water, with cliffs to block the cold winds—would be occupied.
Well, he decided finally, he would make up his mind on what to do when the time came. It wouldn’t be the first time he had faced starvin’ times, and he damned sure knew it wouldn’t be the last.
He smiled, thinking back about the early days, when he had first hooked up with old LeGrande. Crows had run off their horses and stole most of their plews; then they had fought off two Blackfoot war parties a couple days apart. Short of meat, short of powder and ball, hell, short of everything but hard times, they had found a small canyon and, in the midst of a blizzard, hacked and chopped a hole in the wall of the canyon. When they were able to, they had chopped down a few aspens and sort of covered up the front of the hole. And there they had lived throughout that winter. By spring, they had even eaten their extra moccasins and half the thongs that fringed their shirts and pants. Indeed, they had been eyeing each other up as meat when the weather finally broke.
They had made it through that time, and Squire would help Melton and his men make it through this winter. And it would be good to see LeGrande again—if he could find the old coot, Squire chuckled to himself. When that old coon thought to cache, there weren’t nobody able to find him—except perhaps Squire himself. LeGrande would have picked a good spot for wintering.
Squire had had a hankering for a woman with white skin, one who dressed in something other than buckskin and smelled of something other than bear grease. Even if it was just one of the blowsy women from a bawdyhouse. So he headed toward St. Louis, and civilization.
LeGrande wanted no part of the city, preferring to go to the rendezvous. With no animosity, they had arranged before Squire left out to meet this winter—if Squire could find the old man’s camp. It was a game they played on occasion. Making plans when to meet, but not where. It would be Squire’s job to find the winter camp.
Squire figured he would find LeGrande, and wouldn’t that old buzzard be some surprised when Squire came traipsing into camp with nearly three dozen trappers and camp hands, a citified dandy, sixty-plus horses and a heap of mules. Aye, Squire laughed, the joke would be on LeGrande this time.
He rode back into camp late in the afternoon, the anger of the morning long gone. The other men were doing their chores, talking, sleeping, a few gambling. He turned the massive horse, hobbled, out to graze. He headed for Whitaker and found the young man delirious. Train, Carpenter and Melton hovered over the thin figure that jerked about wildly in the buffalo robe.
“There you are,” Melton said, voice tinged with anger, worry and even a little fear. “Where have you been all the day?”
“Yonder. The boy ain’t doin’ so well, eh?”
“You can see that for yourself. He has been delirious for some hours. We’ve dosed him more than once with laudanum, and frequently with whiskey. I’ve even tried a concoction of sumac root, which should have induced a feeling of euphoria. Nothing has worked.”
“I could’ve told ye that. He’s been hurt bad, and his body be needin’ its own time to do its work.”
Whitaker let loose with a burst of gibberish.
“Huh?” Squire asked, surprised.
“He has been muttering such inanities since the delirium set in.”
“Merde. All right, Colonel, get the jug. Abner, hold Tobias up a bit. Colonel, when I pry his jaws open, pour that whiskey down him till I be tellin’ ye to stop.”
Both men nodded and got ready. Train struggled to hold Whitaker up as the wounded man wrestled feebly. But Train got it done. Without much effort, Squire cracked open Whitaker’s jaws. Melton moved in and poured. Some of the whiskey splashed over everyone, as Whitaker found a little more strength to fight.
“That be enough, Colonel,” Squire said, still holding Whitaker’s jaws open. “Now get a good jolt of laudanum into him. Quick.”
Melton did as he was told, and Squire let the youth’s mouth clamp shut. Train eased him down. The three sat back. Whitaker muttered unintelligible phrases, though the others could pick out references to God, as well as a few disjointed passages from the Scriptures.
But at last he fell silent and quit jerking. His breathing was ragged, but at least he was still.
“Ye lads been here all the day?” Squire asked, glancing from Train to Carpenter. When both nodded, he said, “Colonel, best see to gettin’ some others to take the watch now. Do like last night, with two people to watch o’er Tobias at all times. Abner, do ye remember my warnin’?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then ye and Hank stay here till ye be relieved by the next two. When they get here, ye give ’em the warnin’—all of it. And ye tell ’em to be passin’ it to the others, and so on through the night.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Li’l Jim and Benji get back yet, Colonel?”
“No, Nathaniel.” Melton seemed to have grown older, and he looked tired.
There was nothing more for Squire to say, so he walked back to Noir Astre. He rubbed the horse down with the little soft grass he managed to find. He turned the horse back out to graze. Dark was nearly on them, and he sat by the fire alone, eating antelope meat. He lighted his pipe after eating but realized he did not really want it. Nothing seemed to taste right to him today. With a shrug, he got some blankets from the Colonel’s stores and turned in.
He awoke in the dark of the night, senses instantly alert, hand on the Hawken. He rolled over and fell back to sleep when he realized it was just Li’l Jim and Benji returning.
In the morning, he had coffee and then went to check on Whitaker. To his surprise, the young man was awake. Squire nodded at Billy Von Eck and Tom Douglas, the latter one of the two young black men with the group. “Ye boys can be headin’ on to your breakfasts now,” he said, as he knelt next to Whitaker. “How ye be feelin’, Tobias?”
“A sight better.” Whitaker managed a slight smile
. “By the Grace of the Good Lord, I have been resurrected to do His bidding.”
“It’ll be a spell before ye can be doin’ His work, lad, or anyone else’s,” Squire said dryly. “Think ye can be travelin’ some, though?”
Whitaker shook his head carefully. “I can’t sit a horse,” he said in his broad New England accent. “If you need to move on, maybe it’d be best if you left me. The Lord has provided, and He will continue to do so.”
“Wouldn’t think of settin’ ye on a horse, lad,” Squire said, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice. It had been bad enough when Whitaker and Shanks had set to arguin’ over Scriptures and such, but this was becoming too much for him. Squire never had much tolerance for preachers and their like. “But if’n ye be up to it, ye can ride in comfort in a travois. Might be some dusty, but you’ll be ridin’ easy.”
Whitaker brightened. “You think I could do that?”
“Aye, lad. You’ll be the envy of e’erbody here with all the soft ridin’. But we’ll wait till the morrow. Let ye get a bit stronger.” Train and Carpenter had come up while Squire was talking to Whitaker, and he said to them now, “Ye lads fetch up a small pot and some water. Rekindle the fire here, and set the water to boilin’.”
While they were gone, Squire checked Whitaker’s bandages. By the time he was done, the water was boiling. He threw in some buffalo hump and a few prairie turnips he had found during his ride yesterday. He let the stew boil awhile, then set it aside to cool. He pulled a small horn spoon from his waist-belt possible bag.
“C’mon, Tobias, let’s see if’n we can get ye to be eatin’ a bit.”
“Don’t know if I can, Nathaniel.”
“Best be tryin’. You’ll be needin’ your strength and it’ll be makin’ ye feel some better.”
Whitaker opened his mouth and tasted the thin broth. He ate little of the meat, but Squire was pleased to see that Whitaker had sucked down almost all the broth.
“Ye done well, lad,” Squire said as he stood up. “Now try’n get some more sleep. If’n ye be havin’ trouble, we’ll dose ye with more laudanum. Abner, ye ’n’ Hank needn’t be stayin’ so close here today. Just set the whiskey back in the stores afore ye head out to hunt.”