Sagebrush Serenade
Page 9
The next day, when they reached Sweetwater River, the three of them were ecstatic. Suddenly the countryside had changed. After passing through sandstone and barren land, like magic, a breath of clean, fresh air hit them in the face. Now there was fertile brown soil near the banks of a crystal-clear river. They all started to feel alive again. The misery, dust, and doubts subsided and once more the mules had something to graze on amid scattered sprigs of green foliage.
Trapper Dan jumped down from the wagon at about the same time Marcel and Raven were jumping off of their horses. They were all dashing for the river, plunging in with all of their clothes on to wash the dust from their bodies and clothes at the same time.
Marcel was laughing and Raven was swinging her around in the water, then dunking her under to make sure all the alkali was out of her hair. Life seemed wonderful again, as Raven hugged her close to him and kissed her cracked lips that the cool water was starting to soothe.
When they came dripping out of the water, Marcel went to change into a dress. Raven just exchanged his buckskins he had put on to protect his skin from the alkali and put his breechcloth back on. Trapper Dan changed as well and they hung all their wet clothes on a line that Trapper Dan strung from the wagon to a tree along the bank.
“We’ll stay hare a bit till our clothes dry an we catch our breath fer a couple of days. The mules ken graze an get back thar strength. I think we’re due fer a rest,” he winked.
Marcel glanced at Raven admiring his bare chest. She longed to run her fingers across his dark skin, but he seemed preoccupied with his own thoughts, as he set about building a fire so Marcel could cook something for them to eat.
“I think I’ll scout out and find some meat to put on that fire,” Raven stated, picking up his quiver of arrows and bow.
Marcel watched him walk away feeling a little fearful that his feelings for her were waning. He was going through so much to help her get to Oregon, and yet she would not agree to be his woman or wife and become a Sioux like him. Since he couldn’t give up his own Indian ways their future together seemed hopeless, she thought.
Trapper Dan saw the concern in her eyes as they followed Raven disappearing into the wooded area nearby. “Don’t worry ‘bout him,” he smiled. “He’ll sort it all out in the end.”
Marcel shrugged. “What he’ll sort out is knowing he has to be with his people, and not me,” she mumbled.
“Thar’s plenty of time ta come ta conclusions,” Trapper Dan said. “In the meantime, I’ll tell ya whar this Rocky Mountain river got its name. Thar was a group of earlier travels thet crossed this river an when they did, a sack of sugar fell from one of the pack mules an landed in the water. The water tasted so sweet, after havin’ ta suffer with the alkali an bitter-tastin’ water back thar, that they claimed the sugar made the water sweet, sos they started callin’ it Sweetwater River after that.” Trapper Dan continued to try and distract her as he went on with his narration. “Nows if ya look ta the right, over thar at that detached mass of gray granite, standing sixty or seventy feet high, ye’ll see it’s about an eighth of a mile long an about six yards wide. They call it Independence Rock cuz a group of trappers stopped thar ta celebrate Independence day once. Ye’ll see portions of it is covered with names of people who passed thar afore us, some datin’ back twenty yars ago. The names are either carved, painted with red paint, or black tar on the granite face. The biggest names thar are Martin Van Buren an Henry Clay. Maybe tamarrow we ken all put our names up along with the others,” he suggested.
Marcel shrugged. “That sounds like it would be fun,” she said, forcing a smile.
A half-hour later, Raven returned with a rabbit and handed it to Trapper Dan to skin and clean. He set the pelt aside and handed the cleaned rabbit to Marcel to cook. Both he and Raven went to the river to wash their hands, and Marcel saw them squatting beside each other talking.
After supper, Trapper Dan and Raven sat at the fire talking softly together about times they had spent in the past. Marcel found the stories interesting, yet felt left out of the conversation. She went to the wagon and began playing the piano to drown out her thoughts and worries.
She eventually, laid down in her cot, but that night Raven didn’t join her. Marcel thought about how he promised to worship her body every night until she reached her destination. However, her own brother changed his mind about remaining with her on this journey she thought sadly. What was to keep Raven from changing his mind as well? A shiver with through her. She was feeling cold and alone again. She tried to think about the big beautiful house she would have eventually, once she settled in Oregon. Whether Raven remained with her or not, she had to remind herself that was her main goal.
Marcel did not speak to Raven while she fixed the morning meal. He barely glanced at her as he busied himself folding up his dried buckskins and storing them in his side pouch. Trapper Dan seemed busy himself, checking on the mules and making sure all the harnesses were still in good repair. He and Raven filled the water barrels again as they continued talking together, Marcel assumed, making future plans when she was no longer a part of them. When they finished pouring buckets of water into the barrels, Trapper Dan suggested they go to the granite slab to leave their names.
Marcel was proud that Raven could write his own name, as he carved out the letters in the rock. The task kept them busy and they still had not said much to each other. By the time they were through, Raven said he would go hunting again to bring something in for the evening meal and in the morning they would have to start out once more.
This time they had pheasant for supper. Marcel watched Raven put the skin of the pheasant, he had pulled from the bird and turned inside out, with the feathers intact, into his pouch. She knew the Indians used feathers for decorating their clothes and other objects. The bird’s feathers were so beautiful, it was a shame to kill it, she thought. Only the feathers would be put to good use, she decided.
After the meal, Raven went to the river and removed his clothes to bathe. Marcel longed to join him, but he seemed to want his solitude since he had not asked her to come with him, so she did not intrude. Instead, she climbed up in the wagon, removed her own clothes, and crawled into her cot, trying to hold back her tears.
A few minutes later, Raven was crawling in beside her. He turned her to him and started kissing away her tears.
“Don’t cry, Marcel,” he whispered. “I still love you.” Only he did nothing more than hold her against his strong body.
Marcel knew everything was changing between them. In spite of the love they felt for each other, their future together didn’t seem to have a real future. Now she couldn’t even enjoy the time she would be spending with Raven on their way to Oregon, she realized. There was too much strain between them now.
When Marcel awoke, Raven was no longer beside her. He was out helping Trapper Dan hitch up the mules. Marcel climbed out and started fixing breakfast on the fire that had already been lit. After they ate, everything was ready to move out again, and Marcel swung back up onto Pebbles’ back, riding alongside Raven, even though the two of them seldom talked.
Marcel had thought the trek over the Rocky Mountains would be the hardest part of the journey, so she was surprised to discover it was only a gradual elevation with a wide path that they ended up climbing. As they reached the top, the river flowed in both directions as they crossed the divide. One part of the river going east and the other going west. They made the gradual descent down the Rocky Mountains. The weather started to turn cold because of the altitude. At night there was a heavy frost, and Marcel snuggled closer to Raven to keep warm.
The place they camped was at Little Sandy River, only it was a mere dry river bed. They had to dig down to get water and the water was bitter with alkali, like the water they had passed before. There was no sight of animals such as buffalo or antelope, like before. The landscape was mostly sagebrush and scrub brush. Once they broke up camp and continue on, they were heading into antelope country.
“We’re gonna hafta make a raft,” Trapper Dan informed them. “We’ll havta swim the mules across first an hobble them to graze. We’ll save the wheelers back ta pull the wagon onta the raft,” he told Marcel and Raven. “Ya take the Mules across, Raven an while yer doin’ thet, Marcel an I will start cutting’ down some trees ta strap tagether fer the raft.”
It took the whole day to make the raft and then get the mules to pull the wagon onto it.
“We’ll have to swim our horses across,” Raven told Marcel, “I’ll pull the raft across with a rope as we go,” he explained.
Marcel nodded, but the thought of swimming her horse through the deep water frightened her.
“Just hold onto the saddle,” Raven instructed. “Pebbles will get you across just fine. Only if for some reason you fall off, stay clear of Pebbles’ feet. You could get kicked with him swimming hard.”
Marcel could feel the cold, icy water soaking through her clothes, the moment the horses went into the river. Her legs felt so numb she could barely move them but the horse managed to keep its head above water.
“Just hang on!” Raven called, looking at her frightened face.
He had to deal with pulling the raft across and hoped Marcel could handle Pebbles well enough to get across the river.
Marcel saw Raven ahead, his horse climbing out of the river, pulling the rope behind it as the raft was brought to the bank. she realized that her horse seemed to be losing ground, floating farther away from the raft and the bank where Raven was calling to her to steer her horse back in his direction.
Suddenly, her horse’s head dipped down under the water, and then it was struggling to bring its head back up again. She was afraid it was going to drowned with her weight on his back, so she slipped out of the saddle, hanging onto the horn, but then remembered what Raven had said about the risk of getting kicked by Pebbles if she fell off. She let go of the saddle horn and felt herself being swept downriver by the strong current.
A moment later, Raven was galloping along the bank with his horse, screaming her name. He had a rope with him. Marcel clamored to try and make it to shore, but the river kept propelling her downriver.
“Grab the rope,” Raven cried as he threw her the rope, only it missed by inches and he had to pull it back and try again.
When Marcel felt it hit her shoulder, she grabbed it and tried to tie it around her, only she went under and started getting tangled in the rope. Just when she thought she could not hold her breath any longer, she felt a yank on the rope and she was being pulled up out of the water. The fresh hair hitting her face gave her breath, but she felt so numb she could barely hold onto the rope as Rave dragged her to shore.
Marcel was gasping for air as Raven reached out and pulled her to him. He began removing her wet clothes, and once she was free of them, he pulled her to his warm body and began rubbing her skin to warm her up.
A moment later, Trapper Dan was there, wrapping a blanket around her. Raven lifted her to his horse and set her upon it. He picked up her wet clothes and led his horse back to where the wagon and mules were, as Trapper Dan walked beside him. Marcel noticed that Pebbles had made it to shore all right.
“Thought we were gonna lose her thar,” Trapper Dan mumbled, as he looked at the stricken face of Raven.
“I know,” Raven said quietly. “She should have been riding up in the wagon. It was my fault! She’s gonna stay in the wagon from now on. We can tie your horse to the back.”
“No,” Marcel complained. “I can still ride the horse.”
“I won’t let you,” Raven stated. “No use risking your life. You’ll be safer in the wagon.”
“I have been fine up until now,” Marcel pointed out. “It was just crossing the river that caused the trouble.”
“You don’t know what trouble lies ahead up the trail either,” Raven growled. “You will be staying in the wagon from now on!”
Marcel glared at him but there was something in the look on his face that told her not to argue. She decided for once in her life she would not force the issue and let Raven have his way.
Marcel sat in the wagon, dressed in dry clothes, having to wear a dress since her trousers were hanging over the back of the wagon drying. If Raven wouldn’t let her ride the horse, and Trapper Dan was taking care of the needs of the mules, there was no real reason to be wearing trousers any longer anyway. Maybe Raven would be more attracted to her if she wore a dress, she thought sadly to herself.
She climbed out onto the bench and watched as Trapper Dan hitched the mules back up. The raft would be left behind for some future river crosser to use, Marcel assumed.
After they had traveled a ways, Marcel noticed an open grave on the side of the trail. “Why do you think that grave is open?” Marcel asked Trapper Dan. “Did animals dig it up?”
Trapper Dan shook his head. “Injuns. They dig up the pioneer’s graves ta take what useful items they ken find on the body.”
Marcel looked at the grave marker. It said Mr. Sager, who had been buried in 1844. “Cover the grave back up,” Marcel said to Raven. “Since some of your filthy friends saw fit to desecrate that grave, it should be your responsibility to right their wrong.”
Raven gave a quick glance at Marcel. “It probably wasn’t the Sioux. There are other tribes who have few belongings or even clothes to keep them warm. They would be looking for whatever they could find along this trail. Sometimes the travelers are forced to leave belongings behind to lighten their load.” He gave her a knowing look. “So they check along the trail for useful belongings they can claim.”
“Including digging up graves? How would they like us taking objects from the people they bury up in the trees?” she asked. “I thought Indians believed graves of their ancestors were sacred. Wouldn’t they give us that same respect they give their own dead?”
Raven shook his head. “The whites give no thought to the damage they do to Indians, who are still living, by trampling their root fields and killing the buffalo. Seems whoever dug up this grave was just returning the favor,” he muttered as he grabbed a shovel from the side of the wagon and started covering the grave.
“All this land belongs to the United States,” Marcel responded. “We allow the Indians to remain here as a favor.”
“All this land belonged to my people until you decided it should belong to you. Because you have more people and are more powerful than us, you think it is justified to take what belongs to us and has belonged to us for thousands of years up until the whites came along? How entitled you all must feel thinking you deserve the land and we don’t. You dole out small pieces to us as favors, that are only a fraction of what we once owned, thinking we should be thankful for those small favors? Because we have no way to take our land back from the whites, we have to suffer like mere slaves, to do as the whites demand. Someday the whole Indian nation will rise up against you. It may not solve anything but you will know you have been in a war!”
“So you think killing us is the only way to solve the problem?” Marcel jeered.
“Funny, I thought that is how your people solved the problem when they came to take over this land, coming in their big ships and wiping out the native population so they could have the gold and the land. Even when we try to reason with your people and make treaties, someone changes their mind and goes against that treaty forgetting the promises they made our people. We suffer from the dishonesty of your leaders, and you call us uncivilized and heathens! They pushed us back this far, and now you are coming to push us back even more. The only trouble is there is no place to push us to unless you push us right into the ocean!”
“I didn’t realize you hated us so much,” Marcel said, widening her eyes as she looked at him with a dif
ferent understanding. “Why would you even want to be with a white woman like me if you hate white people so much?”
“I don’t hate Trapper Dan, and he is white. It is the leaders that I have a hatred for, not the people who don’t know what the leaders are doing. Therefore, I don’t hate you either,” he said, softening his voice.
“Only others like you hate me. If you were not with me they would think nothing of raping and scalping me the way my brother feared you would do,” Marcel pointed out.
“Yes, that is probably true,” Raven admitted. “That is one reason I chose to travel with you to save you from such a fate.”
“Which means you have to save me from your own people, or other tribes your people sympathize with. That is one more reason I could never become an Indian like you, or even live among them. My only saving grace would be because I was with you, and nothing more!”
“I would always protect you,” Raven insisted.
“Until you couldn’t. I would have to worry if you were not at my side whether it was safe or not. I could never take that risk, Raven. There is too much difference between our two cultures.”
“You may be right,” he mumbled. “Only that doesn’t mean I will ever stop loving you.”
“You are probably wasting your love on me,” Marcel murmured, and turned, crawling back into the wagon and started to play the piano to drown out her thoughts and the look in Raven’s eyes when he spoke about the white people the Indians despised.
Marcel remained inside the wagon as it continued to cross, first Ham’s Fork, and then, Black’s Fork four times as it wound back and forth before them. The crossings were easy, more like crossing shallow streams, so Marcel didn’t even bother to come out to look. By that Evening, they had reached Fort Bridger, which was a trading post.
Jim Bridger and Louis Vasques, who were well-known mountain men in the area, built the fort in 1843 at the island tip of Black’s Fork on land granted to them by the Mexican Government. It was built of logs and chinked with mud. The buildings looked shabby to Marcel. About twenty-five Indian lodges, nearby, were occupied by white trappers with their Indian wives and half-breed children. Raven explained that the Indian wives were mostly from the Piute and Snake tribes. The traders had a good supply of robes, dressed deer, elk, and antelope skins, coats, pants, and other Indian gear ready for trade. They also offered flour, pork, gunpowder, lead, coffee, sugar, butcher knives, spirits, hats, and ready-made clothing. The owners told them there were horses for twenty-five to fifty dollars for sale as well. Marcel noticed they had about two-hundred and fifty horses up for sale, along with goats, sheep, and poultry, which all look fat and happy.