The First Mountain Man (30 page)

The Kiowa nodded his head. “I like that. All right. I shall stay. But only if you give Bum to me. I have a thought that he will not die well.”

Red Hand smiled in the night. “It is done. Preacher!” he shouted. “It is Red Hand.”

“What do you want, you damn renegade?” Preacher returned the shout.

“Your ugliness is exceeded only by your ability to lie. We do not blame Bum for not taking your offer. Since you are not to be trusted, we can only believe that your offer is a trick. You are trying to split our forces and it will not work. Go to hell, Preacher!”

“I never said he wasn't smart,” Preacher muttered.

“Do you hear my words, Preacher?”

“Yeah, I hear you. You best break away from Kelley, Red Hand. You stay with that buzzard puke and he'll get you killed. You best think about that”

“Buzzard puke!” Bum shouted. Then he began reiterating all the things he was going to do to Preacher once he got his hands on him.

Many of the women in the wagons held their hands to their ears.

“It's over now,” Preacher said to Swift. “See 'em slipping acrost the river? Ain't no use in shootin'. They're out of range.”

“So we've bought some time, is that it?”

“That's about it. But we didn't lose nobody this night, and we can start crossin' the river in the mornin' knowin' we won't be attacked.”

“We should count our blessings for the small things,” Edmond said, walking up.

Preacher glanced at him. “Way I look at it, stayin' alive ain't no small thing.”

15

“Pulled out last night and headed north,” Dupre said, swinging down from the saddle and heading straight for the coffee pot. “And they didn't even look back.”

“They gonna be a raggedly-assed bunch,” Beartooth added. “'Cause we shore made a mess outta they camps.”

“Clothes needed burning,” Nighthawk said, speaking perfect English. “Fleas and other crawling and jumping insects had infested the material.”

Richard sighed as he listened to the man speak. Whenever he tried to engage the Crow in conversation, the Indian resorted to grunting and broken phrases.

“We left six more dead at the camps,” Trapper Jim summed it up. “And they's several bodies floatin' in the river.”

“So our adversaries, while still quite formidable, have been drastically reduced in numbers,” Richard said.

Beartooth looked at Dupre. “What the hell did he say?”

“Take heap many scalps,” Nighthawk grunted, hiding his smile. “Count plenty coup.”

“Oh, for pity's sake!” Richard said, and stalked away.

The wagons began crossing the Powder that day and by late afternoon of the next day, all were across and the fording was accomplished with only one minor incident: Young Avery fell off his horse and very nearly drowned because no one in the party would offer to help him. The young man and his father were universally despised among the settlers. Edmond saw what was happening and tossed the youth the end of a rope and dragged him out.

“You didn't do nobody no favors,” Preacher told him.

“I couldn't just sit there and let the young man drown!”

“I could.” Preacher lifted the reins and rode off.

The wagons headed north by northwest, rolling through Thief Valley, then called Grand Ronde Valley, and that night camped close to the mountains. They found good water and plenty of good graze for the livestock.

“Any of you folks ever tasted salmon?” Preacher asked a group of settlers. None had. “Not all Cayuses is on the prod. We'll run into some friendly ones and I'll barter for fish. It's right tasty. I think you'll like it.”

Although it was summer, the weather was unpredictable in that area. When the movers awakened the next morning, they found the sky gray and the temperature hovering around the freezing mark.

“My God!” Swift exclaimed. “It is going to
snow?
”

“It might,” Preacher told him. “Anything's possible in this country.”

On the fifth day after the failed attack by the Powder, Beartooth rode up to Preacher at the head of the column. “Gettin' plumb borin', Preacher.”

“I hope it stays that way.”

The huge mountain man grinned. “Tell the truth, so does I. Nighthawk ought to be back today or tomorrow. Be right interestin' to find out where Bum and Red Hand is plannin' on springin' their next surprise.”

“They've crossed the Columbia and is waitin' for us up to the north.” He smiled. “But they's in for a long wait, 'cause we ain't crossin' the Columbia and headin' north.”

Beartooth looked hard at him. “What you got ramblin' around in that noggin of yourn, Preacher? We got to cross the Columbia, man.”

“No, we don't. And we ain't gonna. We gonna raft these pilgrims acrost the Fall and stay to the south side of the river.”

“You've lost your mind, man! You can't take these damn wagons thataway.”

“I know a way, Beartooth. I spent two year out here, 'member? I got a way all figured out in my mind. It's gonna be rough, but we can do it.”

Dupre had ridden up and was listening with amazement on his face. He shook his head. “I know the way you're talkin' about, Preach. You gonna be crossin' the Sandy four times. You best think about that.”

“The Sandy ain't nothin'. Bum and Red Hand's got scouts watchin' the crossin'. Bet on that. They got people lookin' and waitin' all over the north side of the river. So we'll stay to the south. By the time they figure out what's happened, we'll be so close to the fort they daren't attack.”

“Have you told Swift?”

“No. Hell, don't none of these movers know nothin' 'bout this country. When you're lost as a goose you ain't got no choice in the matter; you got to follow the leader.”

“But you said yourself they's gonna be scouts of Bum's and Red Hand's watching the fall,” Beartooth protested.

“Sure they are. But we ain't crossin' the Deschutes there. We're gonna cross further south.”

“There ain't no damn place further south!”

“Yes, there is.” Dupre spoke the words softly. “You're a damn fool, Preacher. You plannin' on takin' these greenhorns through pure virgin country. It ain't never been done afore.”

“That's what makes it so interestin',” Preacher told him with a wide smile.

“Do you realize that we're gonna have to
build
a damn road?” Beartooth asked. “The way you're talkin' about ain't nothin' but a game trail.”

“Yep.”

“These wagon's ain't never gonna stand the trip, Preacher.”

“They'll stand it.”

“You're a damn igit!”

“You wanna quit?”

“I didn't say nothin' about quittin'. Did you hear me say anything 'bout quittin', Dupre?”

“Nope.”

“Fine,” Preacher told him. “I'm glad all that's settled. Now you can quit you bitchin'. You know the way we're goin', so put your thinkin' cap on and close your mouth. Start thinkin' of ways to make it easier.”

The mountain man shook his head in exasperation. “They
ain't
no easy way!”

“Then we'll do it the hard way.” He smiled. “And we'll be the first to do it.”

* * *

They crossed the Blues at its narrowest point and headed northwest. They camped at a spot that in the years to come would be called Emigrant Springs. Only a few miles north of the springs, Preacher turned the long line westward and headed for the Umatilla River.

“Normally,” Preacher told Swift, “the Cayuse Injuns would be real friendly. I've stayed with 'em many times and et their food and slept in their tipis. Usually this country would be swarming with their horses. But as you can see, it's deserted. That means they've pulled 'em close to their villages and gettin' ready for war. That don't necessary mean that they'll attack us. I know the headman, and he likes me. So that's a plus. Howsomever, there are a few minuses.”

Dupre smiled hugely and nodded his head. “Shore are. Like a bunch of young bucks lookin' to impress the gals with scalps, for one.”

“I thought you men knew the chief?”

“Oh, we do. They probably wouldn't hurt
us.
But they might kill all of
you.”

“Comforting thought,” Swift muttered. “But someday the Oregon Trail will be safe for all.”

“Big Medicine Trail,” Beartooth said. “That's what the Injuns call it. Kinda hard for me to get used to callin' it the Oregon Trail.”

It turned cold and the winds began blowing. If the movers thought they'd seen winds on the empty prairies east of the mountains, this changed their minds. Anything that was not secured properly—“right and tight,” Preacher called it—was blown off and scattered all to hell and gone. So much canvas was ripped and torn that Preacher ordered it all taken off the ribs and stored until they were out of the wind.

They lost half a day trying to round up the livestock that had drifted, trying to find comfort from the cold winds, and two very difficult days later, during which the wagon train managed to cover only a few miles each day, another birth was recorded on the trail.

It was a very long and hard birthing, and the woman's screaming was a nerve-wracking thing for all to hear. The mother had never been very strong, and shortly after the birthing, the woman died. The husband refused to accept the baby—a little girl—blaming the child for the mother's death. She was given to the Ellsworth woman to care for. The mover flatly refused to go any further. No amount of coaxing would change his mind. He flung himself across the mound of earth that covered his young wife and wailed out his grief.

“Rainin' too damn hard to move anyways,” Preacher said. “We'll just stay here and wait it out. Maybe that feller will get over his grief come a new dawnin'.”

Just before a cold and rainy dawn would break, a single pistol shot brought the sleepers out of their blankets.

“I bet I know what that was,” Preacher said.

“Yeah,” Dupre said. “I shore wouldn't bet agin you.”

The young widower had stuck the barrel of a pistol in his mouth and pulled the trigger, blowing out the back of his head. He lay sprawled across his wife's grave.

“Git some shovels,” Preacher said, disgust in his voice. “Be easier digging up this fresh grave and just layin' him beside his wife. I figure that's the way he'd want it.”

“That's sacrilege, sir!” Edmond objected.

“Oh, shut up! Don't get up in my face, Edmond. Not now. I'll hurt you, boy,” Preacher told him, then turned his back and stalked off. “Any man who'd shoot hisself over a damn woman is a fool! Anybody who'd shoot theyselves over just about anything's a damn fool. Life is for the livin', 'cause when you dead, you dead a long time.”

“I have never known a man that hard,” Richard said, rain water dripping off the wide brim of his hat.

“Hard country, Bible-shouter,” Beartooth told him. “This country feeds on weaklin's. I 'spect the day will come when this trail is lined with graves, from beginnin' to end. Three months after they're planted, won't be no trace of them. You best get used to it.”

He walked off to join Preacher.

“Dig up the grave and bury Jacob beside his wife,” Swift ordered. He sighed, steam fogging his breath. “It probably won't be the last one we'll bury before we reach our destination.”

“I'm beginning to wonder if it's all worth it.” A mover spoke the words to no one in particular.

No one responded to his words, the men just picked up shovels and began digging in the rain-soaked mound of earth.

16

The wagon train moved on, leaving behind them a lonely grave and the box of a wagon. The young couple's meager possessions were given to those most in need, the wheels taken for spares, and the canvas given to a family who had lost theirs in the high winds. They averaged about eight miles a day, the men having to literally hack a road out of the narrow trail, using axes and pure sweat and muscle.

When they reached the Umatilla River, two families announced they were leaving the train and heading northeast, toward the Walla Walla, to make their homes near the new Whitman Mission. They simply could not, or would not, endure the trail any longer. No one tried to dissuade them; most of the movers were just too damn tired to care.

The wagon train rolled on, with not one hostile Indian being seen. Nighthawk had reported that Bum and Red Hand had spread their people out north of the Columbia, in the wilderness along the Klickitat River.

“Just like I figured,” Preacher said. “Time they figure out that we didn't cross the Columbia at the Dalles, we'll be so far into the Southern Cascades they'll never find us.”

And as Preacher had predicted, when the train did meet up with some Cayuses, they were friendly. Preacher bartered for enough fresh salmon to give everyone on the train a good meal and learned that only a few of the tribe had taken to the warpath. Those that had were operating—for the most part—north of the Columbia.

But the Cayuses shook their heads and made the sign of a crazy person when they learned that Preacher was going to take the wagons across the mountains south of the river.

“It cannot be done,” a sub-chief told Swift. “That is impossible.”

“It ain't never
been
done,” Preacher corrected the wagonmaster. “But that don't mean it can't be done.” Preacher talked long with the sub-chief and the man inspected the gee-gaws in the trade wagon driven by Jim. After two hours of palavering, the men solemnly shook hands.

“What was all that about?” Richard asked.

“They're goin' to help us cross the Deschutes,” Preacher told him. “I gave him everything in the wagon, and the wagon. That'll be one less we got to pull acrost the mountains, and it'll give us an extra team.”

“But that river is miles and days away!” Swift objected. “How do you know these savages will be there?”

“'Cause they gave their word to me and we ain't never lied to one another, that's why. Move out, Swift.” He pointed. “The promised land is thataway.”

Jim was grateful to be shut of the wagon and back in the saddle. But like the other mountain men, he had his doubts about getting a wagon train through the Cascades.

“There ain't much feed in there for the livestock, Preacher,” he reminded the man.

“That's true in spots.”

“Mighty boggy in there, Ol' Hoss,” Dupre added.

“Yep. In spots.”

“Ropes is gettin' raggedy,” Beartooth said. “And we gonna have to shore use them for snubbin' these wagons and lower-in' down them mighty steep passageways.”

“Once we get them built,” Preacher said.

Nighthawk shook his head at that. “Ummm,” he said.

* * *

“Great God in Heaven!” Swift said, taking his first look at the Deschutes. “We'll never get the wagons across that.”

“We'll get them across,” Preacher told him. “Get your people buildin' rafts. This part's the easy part. Once we get 'crost is when the fun starts.”

The crossing was made, but it was not done without loss. Several head of livestock were drowned in the river, and several wagons were lost when the ropes on a raft parted and the raft came apart. Since possessions were rafted across separately, the movers' goods were dispersed among other wagons and the pioneers could ride the mules. Preacher bartered with the Cayuses for saddles—he did not ask where they got them, although he had a pretty good idea—and one mover's wife shocked the entire train by putting on a pair of her husband's britches and riding the mule astride.

“Disgraceful,” several of the women said. “How common can a person get?”

“Seems like a pretty good idea to me,” was the opinion of most of the other women.

“No woman of mine would ever wear britches,” a mover made the mistake of saying, and ten minutes later, his wife emerged from their wagon wearing a pair of his britches. “You got something to say about this?” she challenged him.

“No, dear,” he said meekly.

Melody and Penelope looked at one another and smiled. Moments later they had changed from their now somewhat less than elegant riding habits into britches.

Dupre took a long look at the derrieres of the ladies, threw his hands up into the air, and proclaimed, “C'est bon! Magnifique!”

Preacher had spent weeks looking at their derrieres. He had nothing to say.

“Here, now!” Swift said, eyeballing the britches-clad ladies. “I'll have none of this on my train. You women get back into proper clothing.”

“Make us,” Melody threw down the challenge.

Swift muttered under his breath and walked away.

“I'm tellin' you for a fact,” Preacher said, “I can see the day comin' when women is gonna have the vote.”

“Never!” Beartooth said. “Of course,” he added, scratching his woolly mane, “I ain't never voted so I reckon it wouldn't make no difference nohow.”

On the morning the train was to pull out, Preacher told Swift, “We got to get over the mountains 'fore the snow flies, and she can 'fly early out here. This ain't gonna be easy, I'm warnin' you of that right now. But I said I'd get your through, and I'm gonna do just that. So toot on that bugle of yourn, Swift, and let's tackle the last leg.”

Swift smiled at him. “Tell you the truth, Preacher, I'm getting just about as sick of that damn bugle as you are.”

The two men laughed, clasped each other on the shoulder, and walked off together, toward their horses. And while they had no way of knowing it, both of them were destined for the pages of a few history books. They would be the first to lead a wagon train over the rugged Cascades Mountains. But since that claim would always be in dispute, it would be taken out of the history books. Taken out long before the mass migration of the late '40's and early '50's.

When Preacher was told of this, he wasn't surprised, since he wasn't aware it was even in any books. His reply was typical: “Hell, I don't read about history, pilgrim. I
make
it!”