“Rub it on your hands and faces and necks, even in your hair,” he called, rushing towards the stallion. I made a face at Elizabeth, but she was already smearing the balm over her skin, and it seemed to work a miracle. Almost at once the flies stopped swarming around her.
“The wind has dropped,” Mr. Butler said as he coated the stallion with balm. “When we came up the hill the first time, it was blowing hard. That’s why I didn’t notice the flies or think about the horse balm. When it’s calm, these pests come in swarms.”
The stallion settled down, and Papa and Mr. Butler rushed up the trail, calling Cade’s name. Soon I heard Papa scolding gently in the tone he used to soothe the horses. Then he appeared, leading the prancing mare. Right behind him came Mr. Butler, half carrying Cade, whose face was covered with bites. I thought he had fainted, but when Mr. Butler propped him on the ground against a wagon wheel, he managed a wan smile. Elizabeth rushed to apply horse balm to his skin.
“The mare went wild and bolted when the flies attacked her,” Cade explained. “I was busy hobbling the stallion and couldn’t catch her in time.”
“Don’t try to talk, Cade,” Mr. Butler said. “It’s not your fault. I should have hobbled the horses before we went back down the hill.”
Poor Cade looked sick, and his face was beginning to swell. “Try to rest, Cade,” Papa said. “Ned will stay with you and look after the horses while the rest of us go back for another load. One more trip should do it.”
I piled some blankets behind Cade to make him more comfortable, and he dozed off. Then I moved the horses, one by one, for they had eaten all the grass on their small range.
About an hour later the others returned — Sam, Mama, and Papa first, each of them carrying a child and an assortment of bundles. Then Elizabeth appeared, with Robert strapped to her back on the Indian cradle, and a basket of supplies in each hand. Last of all came Mr. Butler, shouldering all the odds and ends.
It was noon now, and we were all as hungry as bears. While Mama and Elizabeth went to look for the leftover turkey, Papa gave the horses some of the precious small hoard of oats. He knew they had a hard afternoon ahead of them.
As soon as we’d eaten, we sorted out the anvil and some of the other things that were awkward to carry and packed them in the wagon. Papa watched us closely to see that we didn’t overload it. Then we all fell in behind the wagon, and Papa led the horses up the trail. Sam and Mr. Butler and I were carrying heavy packs, and even Cade had a bundle in his good arm. Elizabeth had Robert on her back and was holding Smith by the hand, while Mama led Sarah and Stephen. She had decided it would be a good idea to wear off some of their energy, and they walked fairly well when they had to.
About mid-afternoon Sam and Mr. Butler and I reached the clearing, just behind Papa and Cade, but there was no time to rest. We had to go back down for one more load. On the way we passed Mama and Elizabeth and the children — much less brisk now than they had been earlier.
An hour later the long haul was finished. I was hoping we could spend the rest of the day in the clearing, but Mr. Butler said no. He pointed down a slope to a sheltered valley with a stream running through it. “That’s the place to make camp,” he said.
Just before dusk we settled for the night at the edge of the stream. Cade asked me to get him some willow twigs, and I knew his shoulder must be sore. While Mama made us some supper, Elizabeth fed the baby a thin gruel of cornmeal. Mama was so tired that she couldn’t nurse him.
Papa watched her with a frown on his face. I knew what he was thinking. Game and fish and berries were plentiful; we wouldn’t starve. But we were running out of cornmeal. If Mama couldn’t nurse the baby, what would he eat?
We didn’t have to be urged to go to bed that night. Mama and Elizabeth took the children to the wagon, and the rest of us spread our blankets near the glowing fire. I ached in every bone, but oddly enough I was happy. Climbing the ridge had been like climbing into another world, and Captain Fonda and the militiamen seemed much too far away to pose any threat.
Just as I was drifting off, a piercing howl brought me bolt upright. Beside me Mr. Butler stirred and sat up too. Goliath began to growl, and Sam pulled him down beside him. Papa got up to throw more wood on the fire. No one had to explain that howl. Wolves were gathering on the ridge.
In a moment Mr. Butler yawned and stretched out again. Papa looked surprised. “Shouldn’t we stay on guard for the wolves?” he asked him.
Unconcerned, Mr. Butler rolled himself in his blanket. “No,” he replied. “They won’t come near us. They’re just curious.”
“That may be,” Mama called from the wagon, “but I wish they’d stop howling. I won’t be able to sleep a wink.”
And that turned out to be true for all of us except Mr. Butler. Although we were dead tired, we listened for the wolves the whole night through, dozing off now and then, but never for long.
Early in the morning we were on our way again. We thought we’d reached the crest of the ridge the day before, but we were wrong and we had to climb again, a little higher this time. The rough, uneven trail that dipped now and then and climbed again was a constant hazard. Every time the wagon slid forward, we all leaped to hold it back, afraid that it would ram the horses’ legs and lame them. Finally Papa and Mr. Butler had to tie ropes to the rear axle so that they could hold the wagon back.
Before coming into the Indian lands, we’d made as much as twenty miles a day. Even the day before we’d probably covered twelve, in spite of all the trips up and down the trail. But that day Papa reckoned that we couldn’t have done much more than eight miles.
That night we camped on the crest of the ridge beside the Mohawk River, close to its source where it was only a few feet wide. And the wolves howled again, but we were used to them now. They weren’t going to keep us awake.
In the morning we crossed to the east bank of the Mohawk at a shallow ford. I couldn’t believe that this was the same broad river that flowed through Schenectady. Just beyond the ford, the trail veered away from the river across the top of the ridge. We were seeing our beloved Mohawk for perhaps the last time.
Soon afterwards we started down the other side of the ridge we’d climbed for two days. The descent proved to be even harder than the climb had been. To get the wagon down at all, we had to empty it again.
Sam and I were leading the horses, always on the alert, so that we could jump out of harm’s way if they plunged suddenly. Papa and Mr. Butler were holding the wagon back with ropes again, but when the horses needed to rest that wasn’t enough. The men had to prop blocks of wood in front of the wheels. It was slow going.
Mama and Elizabeth soon caught up with us, both carrying packs. Papa watched them for a moment and then he said to Mama, “Martha, much as we need your help, I wish you’d put that load down and go back to Cade and the children. The rest of us can fetch and carry, but only you can nurse the baby.”
“I wanted to do my share,” Mama answered, “but I know you’re right.” She dropped her bundle and started back up the hill.
It took us all morning to reach the bottom of the ridge, but once we were down, it seemed our troubles were over. We had descended into a broad valley. In the distance on either side the land rolled gently and the forest loomed.
Not long afterwards we heard Mama and Cade on the trail with the children. Mama settled herself some distance away from us in the shade of an oak tree, where she could nurse the baby in peace. Papa and Elizabeth and Sam went right back up the hill for another load, but Mr. Butler drew me aside.
“I want to show you something,” he said. In the soft mud just where the trail led into the meadow there was a track unlike any track I had ever seen before.
“What is it?” I asked.
“A mountain lion,” he answered, and I shuddered.
“Cade can’t shoot with his bad arm,” Mr. Butler went on, “and your father needs me. It’s up to you. Get the musket from the wagon and stay on the watch.”
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p; Cade saw Mr. Butler loading the musket and came to ask what we were doing. When Mr. Butler told him, Cade frowned. “Ned will never hit a mountain lion with a musket. It’s not accurate enough,” he said.
“I don’t think the lion will come anywhere near the meadow,” Mr. Butler answered, “but if he does, a shot will scare him away. Just keep a close eye on the children and don’t let them wander away.”
“I’ll take good care of them,” I promised.
When I looked around, I saw Sarah scuttling across the meadow, peering back now and then to find out whether anyone had discovered her escape. I dashed after her and dragged her back to the wagon. The boys were very obedient, but Sarah just wouldn’t mind me. As soon as my back was turned, she clambered over the side of the wagon and was off again. Catching her, I slapped her, but she just laughed at me.
“That was nothing but a love pat,” Cade scoffed. Pulling Sarah over his knee with his good arm, he spanked her — much harder than I had dared to do. Her screams rang out all over the meadow, but she didn’t struggle when Cade put her back in the wagon. For a few minutes she went on sniffling, peeking at us reproachfully through her wet lashes. Her wiles worked on me. All at once I felt like a tyrant and I walked towards the wagon.
“Don’t be a simpleton,” Cade called out, well aware that I was about to lift her out of the wagon. “We have three of them to look after. What if they all decide to run away at once?”
About two hours later everyone was back in the meadow. We had repacked the wagon and were ready to set out. There’d been no sign of the mountain lion, but Sam, the big hunter, trailed behind the wagon with a rifle and an oddly reluctant Goliath. He seemed to sense that we were being stalked by some creature that was unknown to him. He stayed so close to Sam that he kept tripping him. Finally in exasperation Sam shouted, “Elizabeth, call this dratted cur. He’s more trouble than he’s worth.”
We watched and watched, the whole afternoon, but we never once caught sight of the beast. Towards the end of the day we stopped worrying and even began to joke about him. Sam nicknamed him Gilbert in honour of our other stalker, Captain Gilbert Fonda. We couldn’t make up our minds which Gilbert was the greater menace.
By now I was so tired that I could hardly drag one foot after the other. For once Sam was in sympathy with me. “I’ve worked like an ox,” he muttered.
Mr. Butler overheard him. “We won’t have to work so hard for the next few days,” he said encouragingly. “We’re close to the High Falls. From there the trail wanders through a wooded valley with many open meadows.”
Towards dusk we caught a faint humming, which grew steadily louder as we advanced. Then through a break in the trees we saw what seemed to be a billowing cloud of steam.
“The High Falls,” Mr. Butler announced triumphantly.
It was an awesome sight, tons of water boiling and leaping down a deep gorge. Not far from the foot of the falls, we made camp. Mr. Butler and Papa decided to take turns building up the fire through the night in case the mountain lion was still stalking us, but I was too weary to care about it. Lulled by the rushing waters of the High Falls, I dropped right off to sleep.
Chapter Eleven
Through a Pleasant Valley
For the next three days we travelled north through the valley of the river the Indians called the Kahuago. After the nightmare of crossing the ridge, those days were a gentle dream. The sun shone, it was warm, and the black flies had almost disappeared. Sometimes the trail climbed a little, sometimes it hugged the river bank, but we were always within sight of the clear, sparkling blue of the Kahuago.
Papa and Mr. Butler took turns driving the wagon, once more piled high with all our belongings. The rest of us, without the burden of packs, dallied along the way, delighting in our freedom to explore the byways of our wilderness. Papa made only one rule: we must stay within shouting distance.
We were going very slowly so that the horses would have a chance to regain their strength. We had no oats left to feed them. For the rest of the journey they would have to exist on grass, and Papa refused to work them hard.
Frequently Sam and I went off into the woods to hunt turkey and rabbits. Since retrieving game was about the one useful thing Goliath could do, we took him with us. I was entrusted with a rifle, but Sam had to reload it for me. I wasn’t strong enough to ram the bullet down the barrel. Although I was sorry for Cade, it was exciting to have a chance to hunt with Sam, and I was getting to be a good shot.
Once we bagged a deer. The venison was a great treat after our steady diet of turkey. Mama saved the hide for moccasins. We would soon need them, for our shoes were wearing out fast.
Sam and I rigged up a frame of saplings, and Mama stretched the deerskin over it to dry. The frame was so big that it hung over the sides of the wagon. Whenever we came to a narrow passage on the trail, two of us had to carry it.
Since Cade still couldn’t do anything strenuous, he didn’t mind looking after the children. Even Elizabeth had some freedom. Her carefree laughter echoing along the trail rivalled the song of the birds. At home her life had been a dreary round of chores — caring for the children, knitting, mending, and preparing meals. Mama hated keeping Elizabeth tied to her side, but what could she do? With so many of us, it took all the effort the two of them could muster to keep the family clothed and fed. For Elizabeth those three days in the valley were a dream come true, and she made the most of them, wandering the trail in her bare feet, basking in the sunshine, at no one’s beck and call.
One morning Elizabeth and I were loitering well behind the wagon. We had told Mama that we were going to pick berries, and we were, but not right away. First we were going to have a swim.
The moment the wagon was out of sight, we stripped and plunged into the river. Just for a few minutes, we’d promised each other, but we lost track of time. In the sparkling river my responsible sister turned into a water nymph. It must have been half an hour later that the nymph surfaced from a dive with a frown on her face. Elizabeth was back.
“We’ll have to run to catch up with the wagon,” she said anxiously. “Mama will be missing me.”
Hoping the sun would dry us in a hurry, we ran up the trail with our clothes in our hands. Just as we rounded a bend, we came upon a mother bear with her two cubs, munching on a berry bush. Without thinking, we turned and rushed back in the direction we had come from. At the foot of a large pine tree, we dropped our clothes and scrambled up the trunk. It was a silly thing to do, but we acted on impulse.
From our perch we couldn’t see the bears and we had no way of knowing whether they had gone back into the forest. While we were wondering what to do, we heard a cheerful whistle. Along the trail came Sam with a string of trout over his shoulder. He looked up startled when I called to him.
“What are you doing up there?” he asked.
When I told him about the bears, he roared with laughter. “Bears can climb trees,” he scoffed, “especially big ones like that.”
While he stood there chuckling, Elizabeth and I inched our way down the trunk with the rough bark scraping our bare skin. Painfully we dragged our clothes over our stinging bodies. Sam went to scout along the trail. “The bears are still there,” he said when he came back, “but if we walk along the river bank, we’ll be a safe distance from the trail. They probably won’t bother us.”
In single file we set out, picking our way very softly. As usual Sam was unconcerned. Although we wouldn’t admit it, Elizabeth and I were frightened. My heart was beating like a drum. Just as we passed the bears, a twig snapped under foot. The mother bear raised her head and looked straight at us.
We stood frozen to the ground. No use to make a dash for it. The one thing we knew about bears was that they could outrun a man, but we needn’t have worried. The bear watched us a moment, then lowered her head and began to eat again.
For a few seconds we were too stunned to move, but then we resumed our silent walk. When we were back on the trail, we really took t
o our heels and we didn’t stop running until we reached the wagon, which was pulled up in a clearing. Breathless, we threw ourselves on the ground.
“What have you been doing?” Mama asked, all unsuspecting.
That was tricky, but Sam rose to the occasion. He told her all about our encounter with the bear, carefully avoiding any mention of swimming. I’d have liked to ask Mama for some of her soothing ointment for my grazed and burning skin, but I couldn’t of course. Elizabeth’s secret would have come out.
While we were in the valley, we feasted. There was all the game we wanted. The meadows were scarlet with juicy strawberries, and even the blackberries were beginning to ripen. Each night we dropped lines into the river. In the morning there would be several fat trout dangling from them.
Elizabeth and I almost forgot that our journey was really a flight from danger to a land we knew nothing about. In the morning Papa often had to urge us to hurry so that we could be on our way.
“Think of Mr. Butler’s wife and children,” he said to me one day when I was dawdling. “They don’t know where he is. They must be frantic.”
One evening when we were seated around the fire, Papa got the Bible from the wagon and read us some passages about the flight of the children of Israel to the Promised Land. As I listened, the journey of the Israelites began to get all mixed up in my head with our own journey. Weren’t we on our way to a promised land too?
When Papa came to the part about the manna from heaven Cade interrupted him. “We don’t need a miracle to feed us. We’ve plenty of game and lots of water.”
“I could go on travelling this way forever,” I burst out. This was the life for me — no school, no regular chores, no set bed time.
“Indeed,” Mama said gloomily. “What would we do when winter came?”
Mr. Butler laughed. “Travelling might be easier. Some Loyalist friends of mine came up this trail to Oswegatchie in the dead of winter a few years ago. As I remember, they didn’t have as much trouble as we’ve been having.” Then he turned to Papa. “Caleb, does this journey remind you of your days with the regiment?”
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