But all the way up the Lower River he was like a hawg in clover, because the Omahas and Osages and Iowas would come down to the bank and look at him, clap their hands over their open mouths to show how astonished and admireful they was. He strutted and swelled all over the boat. But the further away from the Platte we got the more his feathers drooped; and one day a Injun rode up on the bluffs and looked at us as we went past, and he was a Sioux. Big Nose had a chill and we had to revive him with about a quart of company rum, and it plumb broke my heart to see all that good licker going to waste down a Injun’s gullet. When Big Nose come to, he shed his white man’s duds and got into his regular outfit—which was mostly a big red blanket that looked like a prairie fire by sunset. I told Joshua he better throw the blanket overboard, because it was knowed all up and down the river, and any Sioux would recognize it at a glance. But Joshua said if we threw it overboard we’d have to throw Big Nose overboard too, because he thought it was big medicine. Anyway, he said, they warn’t no use trying to keep the Sioux from knowing we was taking Big Nose home. They knowed it already and would take him away from us if they could. Joshua said he aimed to use diplomacy to save Big Nose’s sculp. I didn’t like the sound of that, because I notice when somebody I’m working for uses diplomacy it generally means I got to risk my neck and he gits the credit. Jest like you, pap, when you git to working and figgering, like you say, the way it always comes around you do the figgering and I do the working.
The further north we got, the closter Big Nose stayed in the cabin which ain’t big enough to swing a cat in; but Big Nose didn’t want to swing no cat, and every time he come on deck he seen swarms of Sioux all over the bluffs jest fixing for to descent on him. Joshua said it was hallucernations, but I said it would be delirium trimmings purty soon if that jug warn’t took away from him.
We made purty good time, ten to twenty miles a day, except when we had winds agen us, or had to haul the boat along on the cordelle—which is a big line that the Frenchies gits out and pulls on, in case you don’t know. Towing a twenty-ton keelboat in water up to yore neck ain’t no joke.
Every day we expected trouble with the Sioux, but we got past the mouth of the Owl River all right, and Joshua said he guessed the Sioux knowed better’n to try any monkey business with him. And that very day a Yankton on a piebald hoss hailed us from the bluffs, and told us they was a hundred Tetons laying in ambush for us amongst the willers along the next p’int of land. We’d have to go around it on the cordelle; and whilst the boatmen was tugging and hauling in water up to their waists, the Sioux aimed to jump us. The Yankton said the Tetons didn’t have nothing personal agen us white men, and warn’t aiming to do us no harm—outside of maybe cutting our throats for a joke—but you oughta herd what he said they was going to do to Big Nose. It war plumb scandalous.
Big Nose ducked down into the cabin and started having another chill; and the Frenchies got scairt and would of turnt the boat around and headed for Saint Charles if we’d let ’em. Us hunters wanted Joshua to put us ashore and let us circle the p’int from inland and come onto the Sioux from behind. We could do a sight of damage to ’em before they knowed we was onto ’em. But Joshua said not even four American hunters could lick a hundred Sioux, and he furthermore said shet up and let him think. So he sot down on a kag and thunk for a spell, and then he says to me: “Ain’t Fat Bear’s village out acrost yonder about five mile?”
I said yes, and he said: “Well, look, you put on Big Nose’s blanket and git on the Yankton’s hoss and head for the village. The Sioux’ll think we’ve throwed Big Nose out to root for hisself; and whilst they’re chasin’ you the boat can git away up the river with Big Nose.”
“I don’t suppose it matters what happens to me!” I says bitterly.
“Oh,” says he, “Fat Bear is yore friend and wunst you git in his village he won’t let the Sioux git you. You’ll have a good start before they can see you, on account of the bluffs there, and you ought to be able to beat ’em into the village.”
“I suppose it ain’t occurred to you at all that they’ll shott arrers at me all the way,” I says.
“You know a Sioux cain’t shoot as good from a runnin’ hoss as a Comanche can,” he reassured me. “You jest keep three or four hundred yards ahead of ’em, and I bet they won’t hit you hardly any at all.”
“Well, why don’t you do it, then?” I demanded.
At this Joshua bust into tears. “To think that you should turn agen me after all I’ve did for you!” he wept—though what he ever done for me outside of trying to skin me out of my wages I dunno. “After I taken you off’n a Natchez raft and persuaded the company to give you a job at a princely salary, you does this to me! A body’d think you didn’t give a dern about my personal safety! My pore old grandpap used to say: ‘Bewar’ of a Southerner like you would a hawk! He’ll eat yore vittles and drink yore licker and then stick you with a butcher knife jest to see you kick!’ When I thinks—”
“Aw, hesh up,” I says in disgust. “I’ll play Injun for you. I’ll put on the blanket and stick feathers in my hair, but I’ll be derned if I’ll cut the seat out a my britches.”
“It’d make it look realer,” he argued, wiping his eyes on the fringe of my hunting shirt.
“Shet up!” I yelled with passion. “They is a limit to everything!”
“Oh, well, all right,” says he, “if you got to be temperamental. You’ll have the blanket on over yore pants, anyway.”
So we went into the cabin to git the blanket, and would you believe me, that derned Injun didn’t want to lemme have it, even when his fool life was at stake. He thought it was a medicine blanket, and the average Injun would ruther lose his life than his medicine. In fack, he give us a tussle for it, and they is no telling how long it would of went on if he hadn’t accidentally banged his head agen a empty rum bottle I happened to have in my hand at the time. It war plumb disgusting. He also bit me severely in the hind laig, whilst I was setting on him and pulling the feathers out of his hair—which jest goes to show how much gratitude a Injun has got. But Joshua said the company had contracted to deliver him to Hidatsa, and we was going to do it if we had to kill him.
Joshua give the Yankton a hatchet and a blanket, and three shoots of powder for his hoss—which was a awful price—but the Yankton knowed we had to have it and gouged us for all it was wuth. So I put on the red blanket, and stuck the feathers in my hair, and got on the hoss, and started up a gully for the top of the bluffs. Joshua yelled: “If you git to the village, stay there till we come back down the river. We’ll pick you up then. I’d be doin’ this myself, but it wouldn’t be right for me to leave the boat. T’wouldn’t be fair to the company money to replace it, and—”
“Aw, go to hell!” I begged, and kicked the piebald in the ribs and headed for Fat Bear’s village.
When I got up on the bluffs, I could see the p’int; and the Sioux seen me and was fooled jest like Joshua said, because they come b’iling out of the willers and piled onto their ponies and lit out after me. Their hosses was better’n mine, jest as I suspected, but I had a good start; and I was still ahead of ’em when we topped a low ridge and got within sight of Fat Bear’s village—which was, so far as I know, the only Arikara village south of Grand River. I kept expectin’ a arrer in my back because they was within range now, and their howls was enough to freeze a mortal’s blood; but purty soon I realized that they aimed to take me alive. They thought I was Big Nose, and they detested him so thorough a arrer through the back was too good for him. So I believed I had a good chance of making it after all, because I seen the piebald was going to last longer’n the Tetons thought he would.
I warn’t far from the village now, and I seen that the tops of the lodges was kivered with Injuns watching the race. Then a trade-musket cracked, and the ball whistled so clost it stang my ear, and all to wunst I remembered that Fat Bear didn’t like Big Nose no better’n the Sioux did. I could see him up on his lodge taking aim at me again, and the S
ioux was right behind me. I was in a hell of a pickle. If I taken the blanket off and let him see who I was, the Sioux would see I warn’t Big Nose, too, and fill me full of arrers; and if I kept the blanket on he’d keep on shooting at me with his cussed gun.
Well, I’d ruther be shot at by one Arikara than a hundred Sioux, so all I could do was hope he’d miss. And he did, too; that is he missed me, but his slug taken a notch out of the piebald’s ear, and the critter r’ared up and throwed me over his head; he didn’t have no saddle nor bridle, jest a hackamore. The Sioux howled with glee and their chief, old Bitin’ Hoss, he was ahead of the others; and he rode in and grabbed me by the neck as I riz.
I’d lost my rifle in the fall, but I hit Bitin’ Hoss betwixt the eyes with my fist so hard I knocked him off’n his hoss and I bet he rolled fifteen foot before he stopped. I grabbed for his hoss, but the critter bolted, so I shucked that blanket and pulled for the village on foot. The Sioux was so surprized to see Big Nose turn into a white man they forgot to shoot at me till I had run more’n a hundred yards; and then when they did let drive, all the arrers missed but one. It hit me right where you kicked Old Man Montgomery last winter and I will have their heart’s blood for it if it’s the last thing I do. You jest wait; the Sioux nation will regret shooting a Bearfield behind his back. They come for me lickety-split but I had too good a start; they warn’t a hoss in Dakota could of ketched me under a quarter of a mile.
The Arikaras was surprized too, and some of ’em fell off their tipis and nearly broke their necks. They was too stunned to open the gate to the stockade, so I opened it myself—hit it with my shoulder and knocked it clean off’n the rawhide hinges and fell inside on top of it. The Sioux was almost on top of me, with their arrers drawed back, but now they sot their hosses back onto their haunches and held their fire. If they’d come in after me it would of meant a fight with the Arikaras. I half expected ’em to come in anyway, because the Sioux ain’t no ways scairt of the Arikaras, but in a minute I seen why they didn’t.
Fat Bear had come down off of his lodge, and I riz up and says: “Hao!”
“Hao!” says he, but he didn’t say it very enthusiastic. He’s a fat-bellied Injun with a broad, good-natured face; and outside of being the biggest thief on the Missoury, he’s a good friend of the white men—especially me, because I wunst taken him away from the Cheyennes when they was going to burn him alive.
Then I seen about a hundred strange braves in the crowd, and they was Crows. I recognized their chief, old Spotted Hawk, and I knowed why the Sioux didn’t come in after me in spite of the Arikaras. That was why Fat Bear was a chief, too. A long time ago he made friends with Spotted Hawk, and when the Sioux or anybody crowded him too clost, the Crows would come in and help him. Them Crows air scrappers and no mistake.
“This is plumb gaudy!” I says. “Git yore braves together and us and the Crows will go out and run them fool Tetons clean into the Missoury, by golly.”
“No, no, no!” says he. He’s hung around the trading posts till he can talk English nigh as good as me. “There’s a truce between us! Big powwow tonight!”
Well, the Sioux knowed by now how they’d been fooled; but they also knowed the Pirut Queen would be past the p’int and outa their reach before they could git back to the river; so they camped outside, and Bitin’ Hoss hollered over the stockade: “There is bad flesh in my brother’s village! Send it forth that we may cleanse it with fire!”
Fat Bear bust into a sweat and says: “That means they want to bum you! Why did you have to come here, jest at this time?”
“Well,” I says in a huff, “air you goin’ to hand me over to ’em?”
“Never!” says he, wiping his brow with a bandanner he stole from the guvment trading post below the Kansas. “But I’d rather a devil had come through that gate than a Big Knife!” That’s what them critters calls a American. “We and the Crows and Sioux have a big council on tonight, and—”
Jest then a man in a gilded cock hat and a red coat come through the crowd, with a couple of French Canadian trappers, and a pack of Soc Injuns from the Upper Mississippi. He had a sword on him and he stepped as proud as a turkey gobbler in the fall.
“What is this bloody American doing here?” says he, and I says: “Who the hell air you?” And he says: “Sir Wilmot Pembroke, agent of Indian affairs in North America for his Royal Majesty King George, that’s who!”
“Well, step out from the crowd, you lobster-backed varmint,” says I, stropping my knife on my leggin’, “and I’ll decorate a sculp-pole with yore innards—and that goes for them two Hudson Bay skunks, too!”
“No!” says Fat Bear, grabbing my arm. “There is a truce! No blood must be spilled in my village! Come into my lodge.”
“The truce doesn’t extend beyond the stockade,” says Sir Wilmot. “Would you care to step outside with me?”
“So yore Teton friends could fill me with arrers?” I sneered. “I ain’t as big a fool as I looks.”
“No, that wouldn’t be possible,” agreed he, and I was so overcame with rage all I could do was gasp. Another instant and I would of had my knife in his guts, truce or no truce, but Fat Bear grabbed me and got me into his tipi. He had me set on a pile of buffler hides and one of his squaws brung me a pot of meat; but I was too mad to be hungry, so I only et four or five pounds of buffler liver.
Fat Bear sot down his trade musket, which he had stole from a Hudson Bay Company trapper, and said: “The council tonight is to decide whether or not the Arikaras shall take the warpath against the Big Knives. This Red-Coat, Sir Wilmot, says the Big White Chief over the water is whipping the Big White Father of the Big Knives, in the village called Washington.”
I was so stunned by this news I couldn’t say nothing. We hadn’t had no chance to git news about the war since we started up the river.
“Sir Wilmot wants the Sioux, Crows and Arikaras to join him in striking the American settlements down the river,” says Fat Bear. “The Crows believe the Big Knives are losing the war, and they’re wavering. If they go with the Sioux, I must go too; otherwise the Sioux will burn my village. I cannot exist without the aid of the Crows. The Red-Coat has a Soc medicine man, who will go into a medicine lodge tonight and talk with the Great Spirit. It is big medicine, such was never seen before on any village on the Missouri. The medicine man will tell the Crows and the Arikaras to go with the Sioux.”
“You mean this Englishman aims to lead a war-party down the river?” I says, plumb horrified.
“Clear to Saint Louis!” says Fat Bear. “He will wipe out all the Americans on the river!”
“He won’t neither,” says I with great passion, rising and drawing my knife. “I’ll go over to his lodge right now and cut his gizzard out!”
But Fat Bear grabbed me and hollered: “If you spill blood, no one will ever dare recognize a truce again! I cannot let you kill the Red-Coat!”
“But he’s plannin’ to kill everybody on the river, dern it!” I yelled. “What’m I goin’ to do?”
“You must get up in council and persuade the warriors not to go on the war-path,” says he.
“Good gosh,” I says, “I can’t make no speech.”
“The Red-Coat has a serpent’s tongue,” says Fat Bear, shaking his head. “If he had presents to give the chiefs, his cause would be as good as won. But his boat upset as he came along the river, and all his goods were lost. If you had presents to give to Spotted Hawk and Biting Horse—”
“You know I ain’t got no presents!” I roared, nigh out of my head. “What the hell am I goin’ to do?”
“I dunno,” says he, despairful. “Some white men pray when they’re in a pickle.”
“I’ll do it!” I says. “Git outa my way!” So I kneeled down on a stack of buffler robes, and I’d got as far as: “Now I lay me down to sleep—” when my knee nudged something under the hides that felt familiar. I reched down and yanked it out—and sure enough, it was a keg!
“Where’d you git this?”
I yelped.
“I stole it out of the company’s storehouse the last time I was in Saint Louis,” he confessed, “but—”
“But nothin’!” exulted I. “I dunno how come you ain’t drunk it all up before now, but it’s my wampum! I ain’t goin’ to try to out-talk that lobster-back tonight. Soon’s the council’s open, I’ll git up kind of casual and say that the Red-Coat has got a empty bag of talk for ’em, with nothin’ to go with it, but the Big White Father at Washington has sent ’em a present. Then I’ll drag out the keg. T’aint much to divide up amongst so many, but the chiefs is what counts, and they’s enough licker to git them too drunk to know what Sir Wilmot and the medicine man says.”
“They know you didn’t bring anything into the village with you,” he says.
“So much the better,” I says. “I’ll tell ’em it’s wakan and I can perjuice whiskey out of the air.”
“They’ll want you to perjuice some more,” says he.
“I’ll tell ’em a evil spirit, in the shape of a skunk with a red coat on, is interferin’ with my magic powers,” I says, gitting brainier every minute. “That’ll make ’em mad at Sir Wilmot. Anyway, they won’t care where the licker come from. A few snorts and the Sioux will probably remember all the gredges they got agen the Socs and run ’em outa camp.”
“You’ll get us all killed,” says Fat Bear, mopping his brow. “But about that keg, I want to tell you—”
“You shet up about that keg,” I says sternly. “It warn’t yore keg in the first place. The fate of a nation is at stake, and you tries to quibble about a keg of licker! Git some stiffenin’ into yore laigs; what we does tonight may decide who owns this continent. If we puts it over it’ll be a big gain for the Americans.”
The Second Western Megapack Page 7