Salmon River Kid

by Joseph Dorris

  “You bastards,” he yelled. “Haven’t you killed enough men? I said I was coming in. You can have the cursed gold.”

  Smith steadied his rifle. “I said we had some settling, wet-nose.”

  Dudgin threatened Smith with his pistol. “Damn it, Ramey. He’s comin’ in. I gave my word.”

  “Right.” Smith laughed, but he lowered his rifle.

  Samuel knew it was not over. Smith would kill him at the first chance given him.

  Lein gasped, and bright red blood spread across the raft and into the water. His eyes were frantic. Samuel knew he had little chance.

  Samuel whispered to Chen, carefully instructing him. Chen’s eyes went wide.

  “Smith is going to kill us anyway. You know that.”

  Slowly, Chen nodded.

  “Chen is going to throw you a rope, Smith,” Samuel said. “Pull us in.”

  Chen coiled the rope and tossed it squarely into Smith’s face.

  “What the—” Smith fumbled with his rifle, trying to get his hands free, trying to catch the rope.

  “Pull us in, Smith,” Samuel said coolly.

  Smith pulled, bringing the bow toward him, swinging the stern toward the shore.

  “Now!” Samuel hissed. He pulled the sweep from the water and swung it as hard as possible, striking Dudgin. Dudgin’s horse bucked, and his pistol flew as he grabbed for his saddle. He missed, and clawing madly at the air, he helplessly tumbled backward into the water.

  Chen jerked the rope, unseating Smith. Panic-stricken, the man smacked into the water, where he splashed frantically.

  Samuel dipped the rudder, forcing with all his strength to spin the raft, sending the bow back into the current to be pulled back into the deeper water.

  “Get down,” Samuel cautioned. Moments later, a rifle bullet whined overhead. Another smacked the water.

  Samuel crouched, keeping the bow upstream in the current, painfully slowly ferrying the raft out and away from the men. He intended to cross to the far bank and walk the raft through. The men’s horses could not swim the river here.

  He tried to convince himself they would not shoot him. If they did, the raft with the gold would be lost in the rapids. I’ll be dead, Samuel thought strangely, but they’ll lose the gold. He glanced at Chen. Chen will be dead. Chen held Lein, trying to stop the bleeding. An empty, hopeless feeling washed over Samuel. Lein was dying.

  The raft slid sideways downstream. His hands slipped on the rudder. Samuel could not hold the angle. A frantic feeling filled him. The pounding waves below were sucking the raft into them.

  “Hang on, Chen,” Samuel shouted. “We gotta go through.” The raft was backward, the rudder downstream. Frantically, Samuel began spinning it back around, trying to face the bow downstream.

  He heard Chen pleading, “I can’t swim, Sam.”

  “I can make it through, Chen.” A terrible ache filled Samuel’s chest. He was glad he had removed his boots.

  The bow caught the chute and jerked downriver. Samuel pulled back on the rudder, straightening the raft. He was close to center. The trough below seethed in white foam, tumbling back on itself. Samuel prayed that the raft would not be trapped. It slid down the glassy green water into the trough. One side pitched up. Samuel lurched against the pole, losing his grip. Chen let go of Lein and grabbed on to the decking ropes. Suddenly the raft lurched in the opposite direction. A black, gaping hole opened beneath them. The raft hung momentarily on a rock, slid backward, and then bucked upward.

  Samuel saw sky turning about him. Then he hit the water, its force pushing him under, downward, deeper. The world darkened. He twisted around, seeing light above him, feeling the weight of the water trapping him, pushing him deeper, the light above dimming and the bottom shadows reaching out toward him. Masses of silvery bubbles raced upward. He paddled after them, straining to hold his breath, fighting against the water pounding him back down. He broke the surface, gasping for air, and was immediately dunked again by the pounding waves. He tried to swim out. The power of the river spun him around and over, sending him tumbling, pushing him under. Suddenly, he was on top, gasping for air, struggling, swimming.

  “Chen,” he sputtered. “Chen.” Frantically, he searched for Chen.

  He saw Chen’s bare torso and blue trousers; face down, motionless. Madly, Samuel swam for the form, caught Chen, and turned him over. The current swept them downstream. He battled to keep his feet down and his head up, cradling Chen between him and the surface. He rode the swells until the water slackened. Miraculously, he had slipped into a backwater.

  He tried to stand and found he could. Pulling Chen to the bank, Samuel climbed out and dragged him onto the grass. Whitewater raced down the chute beyond.

  Chen was not breathing. Samuel became frantic. “Don’t die, Chen. Don’t.” He slapped him, not knowing what else to do. He rolled him over and hit him between his shoulder blades, then hit him again. Samuel found himself shaking. This can’t happen, God. This can’t happen. He shook him again.

  Chen started moving, coughing. An incredible wave of relief washed over Samuel. He helped Chen sit. Chen coughed spasmodically and opened his eyes.

  He yelled in Cantonese, swinging wildly with his fists.

  “It’s okay, Chen. It’s me, Samuel.”

  Chen’s eyes focused. “You not the devil?”

  “You’ve called me that before.” Samuel laughed. “Thank God you’re alive.”

  Chen frantically looked around. “Lein is dead.”

  Samuel nodded.

  “Gold is gone.”

  “I reckon.” Samuel had felt the raft breaking up. He knew it had come apart. “I guess we can go home now.”

  Chen’s eyes widened. “You go home. I go home, they kill me.”

  Samuel hesitated before replying. “Because you lost the gold?”

  “I deserve it.”

  “They’ll kill you because you lost the gold?” Samuel was incredulous.

  “Three men never go home because of me.”

  Chapter 48

  SAMUEL NOTICED for the first time that he had gashed his leg. Blood trickled down and across his foot. He scanned the far bank, looking for Dudgin and Smith. This end of the rapids was on an eastern bend of the river. Fortunately, cliffs blocked Dudgin and Smith from following the river.

  The whitewater boomed and hissed toward the river’s center and stretched below for several hundred yards. Samuel thought he saw some of the logs from the raft, shiny black, sliding through the rapids. The hole had trapped them, and they were just now being kicked out.

  “We have to try to get out of here, Chen,” Samuel said. “They’ll know the gold was tied on. Some of it might still be.”

  Chen stared vacantly at him. “No, Sam. Gold is gone. I know.”

  Samuel studied the surrounding cliffs. “Either way, we got to go downstream a ways to cross. Doesn’t look like we can go up.” The riverbank dropped sheer into the seething water. They had crawled out of the river in a small alcove above a backwater formed by huge boulders.

  “We also got to hide. Dudgin and Smith won’t be able to hit us from across the river, but if they think we’re dead, they won’t be trying.”

  Samuel crawled up into the rocks and into a protected patch of brush. He feared going any farther in case Dudgin and Smith spotted them.

  “They there,” Chen whispered, pointing across the river.

  Their pursuers had reached the river’s edge and turned downstream, now walking. Samuel knew they were checking for their bodies or pieces of the raft. Frequently, they shielded their eyes and peered across the river toward them.

  They waited a long while for the men to disappear before they resumed climbing the rocky face. Samuel realized that he would not go far without protecting his feet. He’d already cut and skinned them and stepped into a prickly pear, but
rattlesnakes worried him the most.

  They crossed the face and reached a bench above the river. The river swung away and curved, quiet and deep, opposite them along a sweeping bend.

  Samuel spotted several of the logs from the raft. They had wedged themselves against the bank up into some driftwood and willows. They were still partially held together by the ropes—the ropes he had used to tie on the gear, he realized. Heart racing, he scrambled down, sliding into the water. The log he had tied the gold to was wedged underneath two others. Quickly he felt for the bags. Four! The other log and its gold were missing. Strangely, he realized the Chinese would no longer be needing it. He shook with disbelief. Frantically he gazed at the far bank, making certain he had not been seen.

  Chen reached him, breathless.

  “We’re back in business, Chen,” Samuel whispered hoarsely.

  “But not other gold,” Chen replied. He had noticed the missing log. Chen began to remove one of the bags.

  “Wait, Chen,” Samuel said. “Not yet. Dudgin and Smith are still out there looking for us. We got to get them off our trail. Neither of us are walking out of here, and we aren’t walking far with this much weight.”

  Chen studied Samuel, fear creeping back into his eyes.

  “We wait until night, Chen. We can hang on to a log and float the river with the gold.”

  Chen was frantic, shaking his head, eyes wild. “No, Sam. I die already. Not again.”

  “It will be okay, Chen. It’s not that far to John Day’s ranch. Maybe someone there will help us. I don’t remember any bad rapids between here and there.” Samuel knew if they could slip past Dudgin and Smith they could make it.

  “Come, on, Chen. Give me a hand. We have to fool them.” Samuel removed two of the bags of gold. “I double wrapped these. Dudgin and Smith won’t know that.” He took the two leather bags of gold out of the blanket and poured out the gold from one of the pouches into the blanket, except for about half an ounce. He ripped the bag, leaving the small amount of gold in a corner, and retied it to a different log. He ripped the straps from another bag, ripping them free from the top of the bag, and tied them to the log as well.

  “It should look like the bags were ripped off,” Samuel explained. “Give me one of the grub bags.” He removed some of the food, leaving the remainder, and tied that bag onto the log as well. “Help me loop the rope around these two logs.” He loosely bound the logs.

  “What do you think, Chen?”

  “It might work, Sam.”

  “It has to.” He removed his trousers, slipped back into the river, and pushed the logs out toward the center to where they caught in the current. He figured they would carry downriver and lodge on the side where Dudgin and Smith searched.

  Exhausted, Samuel pulled himself out of the river and returned to where Chen hid. Chen handed him some dried beef. “Thanks.” Samuel ate hungrily and inspected his feet, bloody and raw from scrambling across the rocks and cactus.

  “I wish you had tied my boots to the same log as the gold.”

  “Then we would not find anything.”

  “Probably not.” Samuel took his trousers, ripped off the lower part of each pant leg, and wrapped them about his feet. He unraveled enough rope to tie them to his ankles.

  “Should I make some?” Chen asked.

  “Not unless you’re going to walk.” Samuel stood. “I’m going to climb that bluff”—he pointed—“and watch and see if Dudgin and Smith find the logs I released.”

  “Maybe I should go with you.”

  “No. Stay with the gold and watch our back trail. If someone is coming, whistle.”

  Samuel turned and hiked to where the ridge met the bench they were on. He began climbing, angling across the face to the edge to where he could see the river and yet remain hidden.

  He watched both directions. The hillside was open with only small patches of buckbrush and an occasional pine. The day had grown hot, and he found it hard to breathe. A trickle of sweat ran down his face. He wished for his hat. Reaching the corner, he could see downriver about a mile. He recognized Lucile bar and more rapids. Of what he could see of the rapids, he thought he and Chen could ride through them.

  He kept hidden in the spotty shade of some thorny buckbrush, its leaves thin and spindly, patiently watching. At last, he spotted Dudgin and Smith at the shore examining the logs he had released. They ripped the bags loose, examined them, and threw them down, cursing. Dudgin addressed the far bank, yelling, “You better be dead, Chambers. I’ll find you and hang your Chinaman friend and slice you to pieces to feed the fish. You hear me if you’re out there, boy.” He kicked at the logs. Both men turned and walked to their horses and mounted up.

  Samuel eased back, breathing hard, watching them ride away from the river. Then his heart fell. They split up. Dudgin headed downstream and Smith, upstream, still searching the riverbanks. They weren’t finished.

  He watched until both men disappeared from sight. Then he waited longer, hoping to see Dudgin return upstream. He did not. Now the day was long. Chen would wonder what had happened to him. He scrambled back down and began retracing his steps toward their hiding place. He met Chen coming his direction.

  “I thought you find snake,” Chen said, his look stony. “I come to find you.”

  “I saw Dudgin and Smith. They split up. Dudgin went downstream and Smith went up. I don’t think Dudgin has his pistol anymore.”

  Samuel caught movement on the opposite shore. “Get down.”

  They both dropped into the weeds. Smith had returned. He came to some cottonwoods, dismounted, and climbed to the top of a rock. He scanned in their direction and then downstream.

  “Nuts,” Samuel muttered. “He’s going to sit and watch.”

  Samuel studied his way back to their hiding place. It was too open. He figured if they could sneak to the river they could drop below Smith’s sight and then work their way back upstream.

  He whispered to Chen. They crawled on their bellies—snake height, Samuel realized, and shivered. When they reached the riverbank, they scrambled down between the boulders to the water’s edge. Chen was farther downstream. His face blanched, and he began scrambling backward.

  “Lein there.”

  Samuel’s heart sank.

  “He is in the water.”

  “We can’t do anything, Chen. We can’t let Smith spot us.”

  “We have to bury Lein. Devil will find him,” Chen pleaded.

  “Okay, Chen, but we have to wait until Smith moves on, or he’ll see us.”

  “We got to bury Lein soon,” Chen insisted. “Devil come.”

  Samuel looked around. He spotted a cut in the bank upstream that was blocked from Smith’s view. “We can drag him up there.”

  Chen nodded.

  They slipped down to the river’s edge. Samuel saw Lein’s bobbing body and felt sick. He did not expect to see it looking so pale. The hole in his chest resembled butchered white flesh, completely drained of blood.

  Together they dragged Lein’s body up the bank and into the cut, where they stacked rocks and driftwood on it until it was partially buried. Samuel pulled some brush over it, hoping it would not be recognizable from across the river.

  Smith remained on the rock, alone, watching. Near dusk, he rose, caught up his horse, and headed downriver. Samuel realized that both he and Dudgin might still be looking for logs from the raft, hoping some of the gold was still tied on.

  Samuel studied the river, flowing powerfully past, now black and frightening in the growing dark. It no longer seemed a good idea to float it in the night. In his mind, the rapids he had seen grew in size and intensity. He relived nearly being drowned, and he realized Chen must have been thinking the same terrible thoughts.

  “We gotta go, Chen,” Samuel finally choked. The stars were out. The moon would be rising soon. If Dudgin and Smith
were watching the river, they might see them floating by. It was a risk Samuel had to take.

  They tied their trousers to the log and began pushing it out, Samuel on one side and Chen on the other. Samuel could hear Chen’s rapid, scared breathing. He wondered if Chen could also hear his.

  Samuel waded out until the water reached his chest, feeling the current pushing against him. His feet slipped on the slick rocks on the river’s bottom, and he kicked off from them. They were swimming; the log was riding the current.

  All too soon, the sound of rapids downstream filled Samuel’s senses. He could make out the spitting whitewater. It was little use trying to steer the log.

  Samuel knew that just holding on to the log, the current would rip them loose of it. He wrapped a loop of rope about his wrist and choked up on it next to the log to get a tight grip.

  “You better wrap the rope around your hand. It’ll help you keep your grip.” Chen did so, his breathing increasing.

  “Now, grab my wrist with your other hand. I’ll grab yours. With our wrists linked, we won’t be as likely to come apart as if we were holding each other just by our fingers.”

  With his free hand, Samuel grabbed Chen’s wrist and felt Chen’s fingers dig into his own wrist. “Hang on, Chen,” he called. “We’re going through.”

  The water swept upward, hissing. They rose and came down, slapping the water, turning around and around, the waves kicking them back and forth and breaking over them. Samuel swallowed water and began choking. Each time he tried to get a breath of air, he took in water. He began panicking. He could not get air.

  The log bucked upward, almost wrenching itself free from between them. Desperately, Samuel held on, feeling Chen’s fingers dig deeper into his wrist.

  They entered more fast water and slid downward through huge troughs and then descending swells until the river settled. Gasping and choking, Samuel coughed until he finally got air.