by J. T. Edson
“Like I said, there’re some who’d give you an argument on that.”
“Well, we have no connection with any religious group. Our purpose here is purely scientific. We came to study your wor—country.”
“Do you always travel with Adek?” asked Dusty. “No. This is the first time we’ve been on an expedition together.”
“Are he and Jarrel your kin-folk—father and brother, I mean.”
A smile flickered across the girl’s face. “They are not related to me. Adek is a historian and Jarrel an engineer. We were sent to see how your country has advanced and developed since our last party made a visit.”
“Did they settle in the United States?”
“No,” the girl replied. “It is not our desire or intention to settle, merely to study and learn. Unfortunately three out of four of the last party were killed on their expedition.”
“By Indians?” Dusty inquired, suggesting the most likely cause of the tragedy.
“No. The one who escaped brought the story of what happened. Naturally our ways appeared strange to your people and the party found themselves accused of witchcraft. Three were killed in a horrible manner.”
“ Where’d this happen?”
“In a town called Salem.”
Thinking back to half-forgotten history lessons while at school, Dusty remembered how the town of Salem in Massachusetts had been the scene of mass accusations of witchcraft. A number of people were tried as witches and several killed before the Governor of the Colony—as it was then—intervened and brought an end to the burning at the stake and hanging. While Dusty could not recall the exact date, he decided that the affair took place in the late seventeenth century. iv
“And none of your people have been back since then?” he asked.
“Not to the United States,” Vaza replied. “It was decided that we direct our attentions to other parts of your world, although we have kept observations on the happenings here. At last it was decided that another party landed. There was, as I told you, an accident and the selected party could hot come. Rather than cancel the expedition after so much effort, Adek, Jarrel and myself were sent.”
“You know something,” smiled Dusty, putting the girl’s reference to ‘your world’ down to a faulty knowledge of English grammar. “I’m right pleased, for one, that you came.”
“Why?” asked Vaza.
At that moment Adek and Jarrel returned, so Dusty put off explaining the reasons for his pleasure until a more suitable time. Running a hand across the beard stubble on his cheeks, he decided that he would remove it.
“I reckon that I’ll go wash and shave,” he remarked.
“Very well,” Adek replied. “We will make our preparations for departure and be ready to start when you return.”
Eleven – The Customs of the Country
Leaving the camp, Dusty passed through the bushes in the direction of the stream and halted out of sight of the wagon. Placing his towel handy, he set up the small, polished steel mirror, which he carried on the trail, upon a suitable branch of a nearby bush. Instinct caused him to retain his gunbelt. Not that he felt he would need it; but because if the need should arise, there would be no time to start running back to the wagon to collect it. Peeling off his shirt, he took up the bar of soap and was about to start washing when he heard a rustling in the bushes.
On turning, Dusty saw Vaza coming towards him. He removed his right hand from the butt of the left side Colt and started to raise the towel before him. Embarrassment at his small size did not cause the move. With his shirt removed, his powerful development showed fully and had the Coopers or Lanny been present to study his muscular frame, they would have understood better how he came to handle them with such apparent ease. Dusty had nothing to be ashamed of as far as a manly well-developed body went. Born and raised in the strict traditions of a Southern gentleman, although he rarely found use on the trail for the social graces his mother struggled to instill, Dusty had strict views on the way he should act around women. In the late 1870s, a man did not allow a presentable young woman to see him stripped to the waist.
The girl showed no embarrassment as she approached, carrying a towel and soap in one hand. Even as Dusty opened his mouth to speak, he received a shock which momentarily jolted the words out of his mouth. Vaza’s dress fastened down the front to waist level and she began to unbutton it. Even so that might not have been so bad if she wore the kind of underwear one expected a young lady of her class to use. Under her dress she had nothing and opening it exposed more and more of her firm white flesh to Dusty’s amazed gaze.
Cohesive thought returned to Dusty as Vaza slipped one arm free of the dress and her round breasts came into view. He felt his cheeks burn and knew they must be very red under the tan. Swiftly he turned away from the girl, sensing her coming close behind him.
“Am I doing wrong, Dusty?” she asked, halting and appearing to follow his thoughts again. “I only wish to wash before we commence the journey.”
“That figures,” Dusty replied. “But not that way.”
“But I only do as you do.”
“That’d be fine if we were both girls,” Dusty explained, not turning and trying to pick the right words.
“But what has that to do with our washing?”
“I don’t know how it is in your country,” Dusty answered, “but over here a young lady doesn’t undress in front of a man unless they’re married.”
“Oh, I see,” the girl said, sounding puzzled. Then she gave a shrug. “We are always told to adhere to the customs of the country. I will find another place for my wash.”
“It’d be best,” Dusty breathed.
“You need not feel embarrassed. In my wor—country, we have no such inhibitions about undressing and washing together.”
“I bet the boys enjoy that,” Dusty remarked, trying to smooth the incident over and introduce a lighter note.
“Why should they—” Vaza began. “You were joking, of course.”
“I tried to,” Dusty admitted.
“When training for the expedition, I was told that often understanding another people’s sense of humor was the hardest part of passing among them. But I delay you, Dusty. If you wish to continue your ablutions, I will find another place and make mine.”
With a feeling of relief, Dusty heard the girl walk away and resumed his interrupted wash. During the time he took to lather up and shave, Dusty thought of the girl’s actions and found they added yet another puzzling facet to the mystery surrounding the trio of travelers. While aware that moral standards differed from country to country, he could not recall having heard of one in which the young men and women were allowed sufficient license as to strip and wash in each other’s presence. Of course, one did hear stories about the behavior of people in France; but, after knowing a number of French people, Dusty discounted most of what he heard.
Another point in his train of thought followed from his views on the French. At the time of the Salem witch trials, only Britain, France and Holland had gained a foothold on the North American continent; the Spanish concentrating their efforts farther south. Vaza did not come from any of those countries, of that Dusty felt sure. All could be reached with ease, and had regularly supplied the growing United States with immigrants; as well as being regularly visited by Colt and Winchester salesmen.
Dusty had still reached no decision on the matter when he returned to the clearing. Finding the others ready to move out, he wasted no time in asking questions, but packed his bedroll and saddled the paint ready to move out.
Riding alongside the wagon, Dusty found the girl interested in everything she saw. Vaza sat on the outside of the trio, her face alight with delight and eyes glowing at every sight of wild animals no matter what their size. To her, a mouse scuttling across the trail held as much interest as did the sight of a magnificent bull elk which halted on a rim, its great antlered head thrown back in lofty defiance as it watched the wagon roll by.
Questio
ns flowed from the girl and Dusty found himself hard-pressed to answer some of them, especially about the smaller creatures which rarely if ever attracted his attention. He told her what he could and found Vaza just as interested in the cattle-raising business as in his repeating the old Indian legend that a redskin hunter would apologize to a black bear before killing it with a club; the black bear being regarded by the brave-heart warriors as harmless and not worthy of a death blow by arrow or war lance.
“Mind you,” Dusty continued. “I’ve never tried clubbing one, or met an Indian who had. But the legend’s repeated.”
“I have always found that legends are based on fact, slight though the basis may be in some cases, Dusty,” Adek put in. “You have the story of the boy who cried ‘Wolf!’?”
“Sure.”
“I have heard the same story repeated by natives of the Indian continent, but with the tiger as the warning; and also in Africa where the boy cried ‘lion’.”
“But why did the Indians wish to kill the bear?” asked Vaza.
“For food, its skin made a fine blanket too,” Dusty explained. “They hadn’t come to shooting for sport—although a bear’s skin made a mighty fine show to the little Indian girls.”
So engrossed had Dusty been in the conversation that he lost all idea of the passage of time. A glance at the sky handed him something of a shock, for he found the time to be almost noon. Soon after the party found a stream on the banks of which they halted. After caring for the horses, the men ate a cold meal that Vaza prepared. Much as Dusty wanted to bring up some of the puzzling aspects of his companions’ presence, he found no opportunity and was still as much in the dark as ever when they moved on again.
A couple of miles from the stream, Dusty saw something and made what to him was an automatic reaction. Halting in its tracks, a Great Plains buffalo wolf, medium-sized, light buff pelage grizzled with black, head short, broad and powerful, gave the wagon and rider a suspicious stare. Reaching down, Dusty slid the carbine from its boot and started to raise it. Realizing its danger, the wolf turned and darted swiftly away. While the wolf stayed in sight for some considerable distance, Dusty did not fire. His carbine’s rear sight had graduations for shooting up to three hundred yards; but he knew that the combination of a short barrel and weak powder charge did not make for accuracy at any but short distances. Not wishing to waste lead by missing, or, worse still, wound the wolf, Dusty held his fire and watched the animal fade into the distance.
“Why did you do that, Dusty?” asked Vaza in a disapproving tone.
“I reckon it’s a cattleman’s instincts,” he replied. “The wolf was doing no wrong.”
“Not right now,” admitted Dusty. “But I’ve seen what a pack can do to a herd of cattle, especially at calf-down time.”
“The wolf serves a very useful purpose,” Vaza insisted.
“I don’t see how.”
“Its hunting helps break up and scatter the herd of grass-eating animals and ensure that new blood is introduced which prevents in-breeding among them. This in turn serves to keep the strain healthy.”
“Maybe,” Dusty drawled. “But, like I said, I’m a cattleman and spend enough time now trying to prevent my spreads stock scattering. I can do without wolves chasing the cattle around, running beef off them and killing off saleable stock.”
“You will find yourself in disagreement with Vaza, Dusty,” Jarrel warned with a grin. “She is a zoologist who believes that all animals have the right to exist.”
“I’m not going to argue on that,” Dusty grinned back. “What kind of animals do you want to study, Vaza?”
“All kinds,” the girl answered.
“Do you want for me to shoot any for you?”
“No! Why should I?”
“I thought that you scientific folks always wanted specimens to examine,” Dusty told her and slid the carbine into its boot. “We’ve had a couple come from back east to visit the ranch and always had to hunt down some critter they wanted to study.”
“I can assure you that I do not work that way!” Vaza snorted.
“It is not our policy on these expeditions to destroy any creature to further our studies, Dusty,” Adek remarked. “Although I would like to make a study of the anatomy of creatures from this wor—country. But I can only do so if I come by them in a natural manner.”
“You mean that if I have to shoot something for self defense or food, it’s all right for you to study its body?” Dusty said.
“The creature is dead then so there is no objection,” agreed Adek.
“Shall I shoot you something for camp meat if I get the chance?” asked Dusty.
“No!” snorted Vaza. “I am sorry, Dusty, but I feel very strongly on that subject. Anyway, we have a sufficient supply of food and do not need more.”
“Do you kill many times, Dusty?” asked Jarrel.
“I do some hunting for meat, or to get rid of a stock-killing bear, cougar or wolf. I don’t go hunting just to hang a set of horns on the wall.”
“You have also killed men?”
“Only when I’ve had to,” Dusty answered, feeling no offence at the words; which puzzled him when he came to think back on the conversation. “This is a wild country, rough and growing. There’s not much law here, often all there is comes from what a man can bring himself.”
“Does that not make for tyranny?” asked Adek.
“Sometimes,” Dusty admitted. “But mostly the people themselves end that sort before they get far.” While the wagon rolled on southwards, the travelers continued their discussion. Dusty did not know whether he had cleared up any points of his outlook, but found no change in the party’s friendly attitude and even Vaza seemed to be mollified after her indignation over his views about animals.
That evening they made camp by a spring on the edge of wooded land. While the men attended to their work of horse welfare and wood-gathering, Vaza prepared another of the meals which so intrigued Dusty the previous night. Again she used only the one pan, of that Dusty felt sure from the glances he took as he guided Adek and Jarrel in their work with the horses, yet the meal once more consisted of potatoes, vegetables and meat.
“Will you take a walk with me when we have eaten, Dusty?” said Vaza as he prepared to ask how she managed the culinary feat.
“Why sure, if Adek and Jarrel don’t mind,” Dusty answered.
“Is there any reason why we should?” smiled Adek.
“Vaza will be safe in your company,” Jarrel went on.
“And it would be unwise for her to go alone,” Adek continued.
“That’s for sure,” Dusty admitted.
“You will make me believe that you have no wish to come with me,” Vaza remarked gently.
“If that’s what I’m doing, I’ll stop,” grinned Dusty. “We’ll go as soon as you’re ready.”
“Go right away,” Adek said. “Jarrel and I will wash the dishes for you.”
“You wouldn’t want to come along, sir?” asked Dusty.
“You would not wish me to,” replied the old man.
“I only asked hoping you’d say no,” Dusty answered. “When you’re ready, Vaza.”
For a moment the girl looked straight at Jarrel, although neither of them spoke. Then she rose and smiled at Dusty. “I’m ready. Let us leave before they change their minds about washing the dishes.”
While walking from the camp, the girl looked up at the skies. Overhead a half moon shed feeble light and stars twinkled. Something which Dusty took to be a shooting-star flickered across the sky above them, leaving a trail of red behind in its passage.
“Do you think that there might be people living on other stars and planets, Dusty?” asked the girl.
“I never gave it much thought,” he replied. “But I don’t see why there shouldn’t be.”
“What do you think they would look like?”
“Like us, I reckon. Why?”
“I was curious. How would they be received if they came here?�
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“Well, first off they’d have to have something better than we’ve got to get here,” Dusty drawled, wondering what sparked off such a train of thought in the girl’s head.
“How do you mean?” Vaza asked.
“The only way we can get into the air is by using a balloon and there’s only three ways a man can go in one of them. Upwards, whichever the wind’s blowing and down. I don’t reckon that a man could go high enough to reach even the moon. So happen you’re figuring that somebody from up there’s going to come down, don’t worry none.”
“You’re laughing at me,” Vaza snorted.
“What started all that off anyway?” Dusty inquired.
“I’m a scientist ”
“And a right pretty one at that.”
“But I—oh, look there, Dusty!”
Following the direction of the girl’s pointing finger, Dusty saw a familiar shape waddling ahead of them, headed towards the trees. On hearing the girl’s voice, the shape halted and looked back, but showed no inclination to flight.
“A porcupine,” Dusty grunted and reached for his left side Colt.
“Yes,” agreed the girl and started to move forward.
“Hold it, hot-head!” Dusty warned, catching her arm. “That damned thing’s got spikes under its fur. Happen you go too close, you learn just how sharp they can be.”
“I know of its defense,” Vaza answered. “But I wish it no harm.”
“Maybe it wouldn’t know that,” Dusty said dryly, watching the shape waddle on its way. “I’ve seen what those spines can do to a hunting dog, bear or cougar that went too close. And I’d be showing Adek a mighty good example of how I looked out for you if I take you back with porcupine spines stuck all over you.”
“Let me go, please!” she hissed, trying to free herself.
“Not unless you promise not to go too close.”
“Dusty,” she breathed. “You are concerned about what happens to me.”
The anger which had glowed in her eyes died off again with the realization and she looked straight at him.
“Of course I am,” Dusty replied.