The men had all gathered and stood shuffling about, speculating on the news the scout was bringing. Most huddled around Captain Metzger and many brought their guns. They were checking their priming as they talked. In these parts any news or change carried the prospect of danger. Josh carried no weapon as the carriage of the scout didn't seem to indicate any threat was close at hand.
Josh sidled up to Mr. Gresham who stood slightly away from the group, enough that he didn't seem a part of it.
Josh asked, "Mr. Gresham, what do you think the scout has seen?"
"Either Indians or buffalo, I reckon, Joshua. The weather's clear and I expect we would have smelled a fire on the wind.”
"Well, we ain't seen sign of either, so far, but I expect we'll have our fill of both afore we get to Oregon," said Josh.
"Reckon that right enough. I wonder what Metzger's plans are."
Gresham's remarks about Metzger's as yet undisclosed plan seemed tinged with some hostility. Mr. Gresham apparently felt he should have been the captain but the others had already elected Metzger their leader before the Cairo party joined them.
Delacroix rode up to the milling group of emigrants and they crowded about, all probing him with their questions. The scout could see they were on edge and it would do no more good talking to them than to a jabbering flock of crows.
"Nothing to worry about, men, but I'll need to talk to the captain," he said.
This didn't do much to quiet them but did give him the opportunity to take Metzger by the arm and lead him aside. Metzger saw what the scout was about and raised his hand to quiet the others.
"Hold off, boys. I'll talk to Delacroix and then we'll see what's to be done, if anything."
He strode away a few paces with Delacroix and turned his back to the group.
"Well, Delacroix, what did you find up ahead that's worth lathering that fine horse of yours?"
The scout replied, "'Cap', I espied some Indians up ahead. "He slapped the brass spyglass he carried on his chest. "I didn't bother to make their acquaintance and I saw but two. However, they was travelin' in a peculiar manner."
"Thunderation, Claude, I've never been in the IndianTerritories so maybe you better explain 'peculiar’ to me," Metzger retorted.
"I means peculiar in that they was bein' watchful but moving too fast to be scouting game. I think they was running from something."
Metzger asked, "Are they headed this way?"
"Oui, there is a place about a mile ahead where one could ford horses and this I think is the place to which they ride," replied Delacroix.
"And do you think there are more than the two you saw?"
"I believe so, Capitaine. If there were just the two they would travel close together. They were some distance apart and one seemed to be watching the land about while the other scouted the river. I don’t think they saw me."
The Captain thought a moment. "We'll stop here, then. I don't want a party of Indians able to come up behind us where they can run off our stock." He spoke loud enough for his voice to carry to the milling settlers.
All the men had been straining forward, trying to overhear the scout's report. The mention of Indians didn’t do much to placate them.
"He still didn't tell us what's come up. He ought at least to do that much," Gresham muttered, mostly to himself.
Josh made no comment. He knew Gresham resented Metzger's being captain. When they steamed up the Missouri the three Cairo families had chosen Gresham as their leader. He had been a selectman up until the last election and it had come natural to pick him. As near as Josh knew, none of the people emigrating had been any further than Cincinnati except his father who had been to New Orleans as part of his steamboat enterprise. Josh figured floating to New Orleans on a boat didn't qualify. Josh hadn't voted. Gresham seemed as good as any other to him.
When the two parties allied at the camp where his parents died Metzger had already been the elected captain of the Missouri families. When they joined up no one had asked for a new election. They had just been soaked up, Gresham's captaincy and all. It was a risky thing, asking a group with disease to come on with them. Metzger could have been voted down then, but he hadn't. Josh was grateful but a part of him wondered at the wisdom of such a decision.
"We'll stay below the ford where we can keep an eye on them till they pass. Thank you, Claude," Metzger announced.
Dismissing the scout, the trail boss wheeled back to the anxious faces awaiting him. As the throng parted he strode amongst them and began to outline the situation.
The guide watched Metzger being surrounded by the nervous greenhorns, like chickens to a housewife with corn. While they were distracted he ambled up to retrieve his horse. He softly stroked the horse's nose and led it away to the riverbank.
Kneeling by the horse as it drank he commenced to refill his canteen, keeping his eyes westward toward the distant ford. The roving band wouldn't be any bother but it was always wise to keep your eyes and ears open in these parts. The two he had seen looked from their topknots to be Pawnee, and while it was not unexpected to see Pawnee so near the Platte fords, the Sioux considered this their land. From the way these two were behaving he reckoned them to be scouts for a raiding party looking to put some distance between themselves and a pursuing party of Sioux, probably Oglala. He sure couldn't begrudge them their haste. The Pawnee and Sioux were hereditary enemies and they wouldn't be just touching with coup sticks if they met up. Revenge for old murders, stolen horses, and stolen women would turn any meeting between those two into a hairlifting party, certain as sunset.
He surmised it was just plain orneriness that sent the Pawnee this far north. There were plenty of buffle for them all and there was water and land enough on these prairies for all the tribes. Old habits didn't die easy, he figured.
It was good for the emigrant trains that the Lakota had pretty much driven the Pawnee south near the KansaRiver. As long as they were busy cutting each other up they generally left the trains alone. The Sioux, while more numerous, and therefore potentially much more dangerous, seemed to abide the whites who just passed through their lands. As long as they would trade for blankets and knives and be allowed to steal a horse now and again, they remained tractable enough. Sure, they would probably kill a lone hunter or scout, but as long as the whites traveled in a group and didn't wipe out more game than they needed, travelers were tolerable safe.
Delacroix walked the gelding up the short embankment and back to the train. He saw the men had gone back to their wagons and were commencing to form into an open corral where the animals would be protected. Metzger had gotten them doing the right thing without much of a fuss and the scout was grateful the crisis had been averted with no further bother. So far Metzger had been an easy man to lead. These people were fortunate to have picked Metzger as their headman. He had a natural ability to command but was smart enough to know he didn't know his way past St. Louis. He usually listened to Delacroix's advice, even beyond which direction to go.
The year before he’d taken a party of fifty-five from Ohio to Oregon who had picked a rich farmer as their wagonmaster. Even when they had gotten as far as the SaltLake he still thought he could buy his way across the country. Worse, the skunk--Perkins his name was--turned out to be a Mormon hater. Not that Delacroix knew or even cared much about the Saints' religion, but he did know they would need their help by the time they got far. Blowhards like Perkins were dangerous on a journey like this and it was asking for disaster to have one in charge. In spite of the rich Ohioan the scout led them through. At least he led forty-nine of them through. Of the six that had died, three probably would have anyway. Two others had died needlessly and one more had died viciously because of their damnfool captain.
The only real complaint Delacroix had about Metzger was that he let the Illinois group join up with them. Delacroix didn't know anything about treating cholera but he did know it best to keep your distance from any fever or disease. However, the malady seemed to have passed ov
er them. He surely hoped so. One of his bonuses as trailblazer was to be fed at each wagon in turn. Today he was to eat from the camp of one of the morte wagons, the one in which the steamboat mechanic and his woman had died.
He had been watching the boy and the black for signs of cholera. There didn't seem to be any and he did admire the boy's pluck for going on. The black seemed like he could handle himself in a fix. All told though, he would rather camp with the redhaired Hampton girl. She seemed a likely wench to take care of a man on a lonely night. And her breasts! La Tetons Grand, he joked to himself and smiled.
#
Leland Metzger was pleased with the train's progress so far. Except for forming up into a U shape with the livestock picketed within its confines, this day's camp was much like any of the previous ones. He was glad a potentially dangerous panic had been so easily thwarted. His people settled down after the first talk of the Indian sighting. The news sent the menfolk scudding to drive the women and children to the wagons. Now that the task of corralling up was complete the usual routines of the afternoon camp were commencing albeit with an air of nervous anticipation.
While it would have been pleasant to congratulate himself on his own handling of the crisis he knew he was as green as any of the rest. Visions of a butchering party of savages had raced across his vision when he’d first learned of the nearby Indians. However, the quiet confidence of the pilot quickly settled his nerves and let him think clearly about what was to be done.
When he accepted the captaincy of the expedition prior to leaving St. Joseph it was the reputation and the qualities of the Western guide that had inspired him to service. He now felt this dangerous journey could be completed. After all, Delacroix had led three other groups through to OregonCity and they should consider themselves lucky they were able to hire him for the trip. Although he had heard good things spoken of him in St. Joseph, he didn't really know much about him. He had been told he was the son of a French voyageur trapper. Delacroix told him he had been to Oregon and California before with Fremont in '43. He sure looked and smelled like a trapper.
It was good luck they had a surgeon amongst their group of farmers, merchants, and clerks. He guessed he had old Doc Fletcher to thank for that bit of luck. If he hadn't had all the birthin' and buryin' business in MonroeCounty sewn up, Doc Bingham would probably still be at home settin’ busted legs.
Home! That was somewhere ahead of him now in Oregon; unless he wanted to consider the wagon he and the missus and their young'uns slept under as his home. Rough as that might be, it seemed to him better than the shabby rented house they had back in Monroe. Being the constable in Monroe hadn't been half bad but the townsfolk sure begrudged him his keep. Most of his job was keeping drunks off the street and transient scalawags moving on down the road. It had surely been a thankless job but lately it seemed there were aplenty of other men who wanted it. Chief amongst these was the cousin of the county sheriff, Bill Archer. Archer was about to put him out of the job anyway and the hundred dollars in gold he had offered him for an early retirement was all the convincing he needed to move on. A hundred dollars! That, and the guff his wife had to take from the wives of the other town officials who didn't think Claire Metzger was quite good enough for their parlors. Hell, they had been about ready to pack up and git even without the ten gold eagles Bill Archer had slapped down on the constable's scuffed desk that Saturday morning in March.
#
Delacroix wasn't around when Metzger stopped at the Bonner wagon.
"Where's Delacroix? Ain't you supposed to feed him today?"
"He be on the rise on t'other side of this wagon here. 'Spect he'll come for his supper when he's done Injun watchin', 'Cap', suh," Jubal replied, indicating where with a swing of his head.
Metzger noted Jubal was fixing two sleeping places under the wagon. True, it was on the ground, but a nigger shouldn't ought to bunk up with a white man, even out here. People sure got some strange ideas from living across the Mississippi in Illinois.
Josh stepped around from the other side of the wagon. One forearm was dusted with flour and held a canning jar dusted white.
"I suspect he'd rather watch for Indians than spend much time down here with us. I'm hopin' some of Ma's put up peaches with his bacon and potato might friendly him up some." Josh held up the floured jar.
"Mebbe' you ought to pass some out to the other wagons, too. I don't see anybody crowding your camp, here," said Metzger.
He paused to see how that set with the boy. Asking to hook up with them hadn't been received well by the rest of the Missourians. He had, however, elected to let them come on after Doc Bingham assured him once the cholera had killed whom it might there was no further danger from it cropping up again. It was like the pox. After you were once exposed to it you were safe in the future. Even now he was considering sending the Hampton girl back to FortKearney with the boy and his nigger as escort. He couldn't care what the others might say about the arrangement.
As though Josh was reading Metzger's mind the boy spoke up.
"Captain, if there were still cholera about—Jubal and I would both be dead. The rest'll see so in a few days but I don't expect any of the womenfolk to be bringing over any pies. I mean to press on, be it with you or alone."
"You all are getting by then?"
"We're gettin by. Jubal helps fine," Josh answered.
"Now, you be tying off your stock to the wheels tonight. A picket stake might pull out if there's any excitement. I'd just hobble that sorrel of yours. You might need to saddle up right quick like if there's trouble later," Metzger cautioned.
"You spectin trouble later?" Josh asked.
"Just putting careful ahead of wishing, you see," he replied.
"I'll be ready if you need me," Josh said assuredly.
"Good thinking boy. Now, I've got to see the Frenchy."
As Metzger turned, Delacroix appeared from in front of the wagon.
"Our company's come," he stated evenly. "Don't raise any call. They are at the ford and just mean to pass, I'm sure. Come have a look."
Without waiting for comment he slipped away back the way he had come. Metzger stepped off after him and Josh, unbidden, followed several paces behind.
As Josh got to the base of the knoll he saw in the failing sunlight that Metzger had taken the spyglass the scout produced and was looking towards the ford about three-fourths of a mile distant. Using his hat as a shade, Josh could make out four horses in file crossing the whirling river. The horses were sunk to their chests and seemed to be losing some ground to the frothing current. Each horse appeared to have a rider lying low on its back. As the horses emerged from the water onto the sandy bank, he saw two of the animals had swimmers hanging to their tails. When all were ashore, the two extra swimmers leaped up behind the riders who had swum them across and all six immediately rode off through the knee-high grass.
Metzger peered through the glass until the Indians disappeared behind a low rise. He handed the glass back to the scout who turned and proffered the telescope to Josh.
"Ever seen an Indian before, boy? Take a spy through this," the scout offered.
Josh accepted the battered instrument, put it to his eye and scanned about until the party reappeared in the distance. He had seen Indians before; mostly as they traveled up and down the river on steamboats, probably to trade. Other than their long hair and dark complexions, the ones he had seen before could as well have been white men. Close up one could see the medicine bags and beaded ornaments they wore around their necks, often in addition to the cravat a white would wear. His father had pointed them out as tame Algonquians or Kansa who years before had treated with the government and had taken on the white ways.
When Josh had focused the spyglass he had his first gaze upon wild Indians out in the territories. The sight more thrilled him than terrified him.
Mounted on calico ponies smaller than the draught horses he was accustomed to, they seemed fleet of foot even under the extra burden half of
them bore. Patched with white and tan, they gracefully carried their riders. As they emerged suddenly back into view, the Indians' ponies struck off directly across Josh's vista. The riders were intent upon their course, never even glancing towards the train or the watching men. Josh was certain they were aware of the emigrant party. How could anyone miss the wagons and eighty head of livestock? It was puzzling to Josh why they wouldn't even look over. Did they hold the whites in such disdain or were they hoping to remain invisible to the surveying eyes.
Josh recalled hiding from his father in the boatshed for some misdeed and squeezing shut his eyes as his father peered over his hiding place. A child’s reasoning told him he couldn’t be seen if he closed his eyes.
"Guess those gents didn't do their chores," Josh remarked absently.
"What are you saying, boy?" Metzger said, turning his gaze on Josh.
"Nothin' sir! Just thinkin' out loud."
"Hrumph," snorted Metzger.
"Them rascals be Pawnee, sure," broke in Delacroix. "You can tell by their leggings and their hairpiece. They stick part of it in the air with paint and bear grease and shave off the rest. Maybe they feel it makes their scalps less appealin."
Delacroix could see the greenhorns were impressed with this bit of plains knowledge. Of course, he could tell them that buffalo came from mating horses and bears and they'd probably sell the story to a newspaper. What the hell, let them think he was Kit Carson hisself.
"They're sure movin like the devil's come for supper," said Josh.
"If the devil had Sioux on his trail, he'd be making quick time, too," Delacroix retorted.
"What're we seein' here, Delacroix?" interrupted Metzger.
"It appears, Capitaine, those Pawnee came up north for some fun and got a taste of Sioux hospitality. T'would expect they left some of their companions behind to pay the bill," the scout replied. "We may see some Oglala if they don't pass us in the night."
"Does that mean trouble for us?" inquired Metzger.
CASINO SHUFFLE Page 23