The Promised Land (Destiny's Dreamers Book 2) (6 page)

Bridger sighed as he slurped. “Best to throw some ribs up against the fire, and sling a hunk of brisket into that cauldron when the soup’s gone. I’ll insure you we’ll eat till the day peeps forth. We be carnivorous animals. The marrow and fatness and lifeblood of this wholesome beast be good for us.’’ He grinned. “Ain’t nothing like the buffalo to make your face shine with grease and gladness.’’

Maggie started with wonder at his words, but obliged him. Soon the soup was gone and they’d moved on to the hump. The diners were, indeed, greasy and full and happy. Jamie had stared in silent awe, eaten his fill, and fallen asleep. Johnny took the boy back to his bed, returning to his seat between Maggie and Sam, ready to fasten his attention back on Bridger. The old trapper had harkened back to California again.

“Now, be you good and wary up ahead near the South Pass. Won’t be no Injuns lyin’ in wait, but be some humans of more devious ways. I met up with them and their group comin’ up past the Sierras. Straight by the Humbolt River they come, the salt desert an’ all. It be some of the meanest, ghastliest, god-forsakenest country you ever seen or imagined.’’

Bridger slowly caught all their faces around the fire, making sure he had their full attention. “Name of Hastings and Hudspeth, these types, and they’re set on talkin’ decent folks like you offen’ the Oregon Trail onto their own cut-off down to California. They’re all het up to get more Americans into their country so’s they can slice it off from Mexico.’’

“They’d be hard put to talk us out of our objective at this point,’’ commented Johnny.

Bridger gave him a look. “Ain’t as easy as all that, son. You come a fair piece so far, but it don’t hold a candle to the mean country up ahead. Time you gets to South Pass you be thinkin’, `anythin’s better than more of this’. That’s when Hastings and Company pop up, like, an’ start a whisperin’ in your ear ‘bout their own brand of promised land. Talkin’ ‘bout how it’ll take a month off the journey, and the country at the end full of milk an’ honey.’’ He licked a finger, and continued with great seriousness.

“There’ll be them among you who be tempted. Might even be some defections. Sure as shootin’ be lots of talk and fightin’ over it. But mind my words.
There ain’t no easier way
. The Oregon way be rough, but Hastings’ cut-off be death.’’

Bridger’s information was digested as the old man leaned toward the fire. “Those ribs look just about done to me. Like ‘em when they’re still good an’ juicy. Carve up a hunk an’ pass it over.’’

It was a strange night. The wolves surrounded them, howling more aggressively than ever, longing for scraps from the great kill that they smelled. The evening star had disappeared and the morning star was blinking on the horizon. The very air was filled with comradeship and prophesy. They would, indeed, eat until the dawn.

Bridger finally rolled himself up in his skins and slept for a few short hours before taking his leave for Laramie. He left behind a groggy camp, trying to deal with not enough sleep and the need to preserve the bounty that remained from their hunt. It was not until afternoon that the remaining meat was jerked, the green skins cleaned, and the train rolled on its way again toward South Pass. Time was growing short. It was late June. The winter snows would not be long in coming.

In the days ahead, it became harder and harder to conceive of winter snows. The desert land with its heat and aridity seared everyone and everything. Wagons began to groan more loudly as wood dried out, leaving cracks for more dust to enter, putting greater strain upon critical joints. White-tops began to break down. Oxen thinned and struggled for each new step. Ravens, buzzards, wolves: all manner of creatures of carrion haunted their days~and their dreams at night.

The Stuart’s wagons had rotated to the front of the line at last and they were enjoying a brief respite from the dust of the trail behind. It was Jamie~one of the few still enjoying the daily experience~who spotted a new kind of prairie `civilization’. He’d been foraging ahead with Bacon, and came running back, just before noon, in high excitement.

“There’s acres and acres of them!’’

Johnny mopped his brow.

“Acres of what, Jamie?’’

“The funniest little animals. Like squirrels without bushy tails. And they talk to each other! They’ve got a whole city up ahead. But Bacon barked and they all disappeared down little holes, and~’’

“Whoa. Could be prairie dogs. Go ask Mr. Chandler if it’s time to halt. It might be fun for everyone to see.’’

Jamie raced off, and soon they’d stopped, a short walk from the prairie dog village. Maggie cobbled together a quick meal and the whole family set out to investigate Jamie’s find.

They met the Krellers coming back, stepping carefully through the abrasive scrub brush.

“See anything, Max?’’

He shook his head no. “They were scared off by too many folks butting in, Johnny. Only thing we spied was a good sized rattler heading for one of the holes, a little `dog’ half shoved down his mouth. It upset the girls.’’

Johnny was interested. “Didn’t you try to catch it, Max? Bridger said rattlers make good eating.’’

Max paused to knock the dottle from his pipe. “I can stomach a lot of things these days, but rattlesnake ain’t one of them.’’

Hazel, coming up behind her husband, was obviously relieved by his words. “And thank heaven for that, too. My insides are queasy enough these days. Don’t lallygag behind like that, Miss Matty. Not with snakes running loose.’’

Maggie studied Hazel. “Try and take a little rest out of the sun until we leave.’’

Hazel smiled wanly at her friend’s concern. “I fully intend to. But the girls wouldn’t let me be till I’d seen this new wonder. It turned out just like the rest of the elephant.’’

Jamie pulled at Maggie’s arm. “Come on, Ma. We’ll creep up silent as Injuns, then get on our stomachs. They’ll come out if we’re real quiet.’’

That’s what they did. Charlotte had fallen asleep in the heat, under the shade of a piece of cloth Maggie had rigged up on her carrier. It was very peaceful lying there with Johnny on one side and Jamie, silent for once, on the other.

Before them spread a vast area of hard-packed dirt, pocked with little creature-made holes and hills. The only sound came from flies droning lazily above. Maggie tried to imagine what it looked like beneath, in the dark tunnels and rooms. She pictured a vast underground city, everyone busy doing his job.

Funny how creatures had jobs to do the same as humans. And these particular creatures needn’t ever pack their bags, load their wagons and move farther on. From the looks of things, they’d been here for centuries and planned to continue for a few more. How nice to be settled down for good and final this way. She closed her eyes and sighed.

Jamie shoved her in the side. Maggie opened her eyes to follow his pointing finger. Not fifteen yards away a little brown sentry had poked his head above one of the holes. Maggie watched with interest as he swiveled his head nervously, this way and that, tiny pointed ears twitching. He finally scurried out to stand on hind legs at the edge of his burrow, black tail a-tremble, alert. Satisfied that the giant marauders had gone, the creature let out a shrill whistle and a half dozen others popped out of holes around him. Soon there were scores of prairie dogs continuing their normal lives before the Stuarts: chatting, scolding, playing. It was fascinating, almost as good as watching actors in the theatre Johnny had once taken Maggie to see in Cincinnati.

But within an instant, they were all gone, scattered back into their underground sanctuaries. There’d been no noise or motion from the four Stuarts. What had frightened the creatures? Maggie silently sought Johnny’s eyes. They were riveted on a hole perhaps six feet from them.

Very slowly a rattlesnake inched his way out. It was engorged. It should not have been moving at all, should have been curled up somewhere for a week to digest. Perhaps it was seeking the sun for this process. Maggie suddenly realized that Johnny’s fingers were reaching for the hunting knife stuck in his belt. Her throat was too dry to cry out for him to stop. In a moment he had the weapon in his grasp. In another, he’d leapt up and pinioned the rattler with the sharp blade through the top of its head. Maggie swallowed, hard. Jamie let out a whistle.

“Nice going, Pa! Guess we get fresh meat for supper!’’

Johnny grinned as he slowly pulled the rest of the body from its hole. He held it up before him, measuring its length with his eyes. “A good two yards. It must be a grandaddy. His skin will make a nice belt for you, son, and maybe enough left over to tie around that hair of yours. It’s growing so fast you’re starting to look like a young Sioux.’’

The thought of getting his hands on his very own rattlesnake skin was too much for Jamie. “Yahoo! Guess we can head on back now, right, Pa? I figure you’ve done the prairie dogs a big favor, but I also figure they won’t be coming out for a while to thank you.’’

Johnny mussed his son’s sun-bleached hair. “You probably figure right. It’s time to move on.’’ He looked toward Maggie for her assessment of his prowess.

She gulped. “
You
are skinning and cooking that thing tonight, Johnny Stuart!’’

“I expected as much. It’s lucky you weren’t along on the buffalo hunts, Meg, although a good squaw always trails along with her man to clean up after.’’

“That’s just one of the reasons I chose to come back with you from a certain Pawnee village.’’

He walked next to her, the dead rattler slung over a shoulder. “And here I was thinking it was my sheer strength of character coming through at last.’’

She had to smile. “It was a little of that, too.’’

“What are you talking about, Pa?’’

Johnny had his free arm around his wife and still sleeping daughter. “Never mind, son. You’ll grow up soon enough.’’

Jamie scuffed pebbles before him, grumbling. “That’s what you always say.’’

The rattlesnake stew was not half bad. But afterwards, with the children asleep, it seemed to keep Maggie awake, her head buzzing.

“We haven’t finished talking it all out yet, Johnny.’’

His drowsy head poked up from his blanket.

“What?’’

“You did it again today. You acted instinctively. Dangerously.’’

“You’d rather starve?’’

“That, that
thing
was within body length of us. It could have struck out at you, at any of us.’’

“It had a full belly, and other matters on its mind.’’

“But what if, Johnny? What if?’’

He sighed and rolled back to his side of the bedroll.

“This trip has been teaching me that life is nothing more than a lot of ifs. Should we stop to consider each one we’d never get anywhere, no less to Oregon. Things have happened to each of us, even between us, but we’re still alive, Meg. Our children are thriving. You can’t ask for anything more. And you can’t ask me to stop and seriously consider every move that I make in future. I’m not just a bookman anymore!’’

He was propped up on an elbow now. “Sometimes events take over. There’s no time for working out the logic, like so many ancient Greeks sitting around the marketplace diagraming life and eternity. We’re making a new world out here, Meg. There’s no room for philosophers in it, only for the man of action.’’

Maggie sat up. Johnny sighed at her. The moon pricked through their tent here and there, softly outlining her face.

“It’s just that . . . Well, you weren’t the one left in that Pawnee village, Johnny. You weren’t the one who had to think for hours, hours that seemed more like eternity, of the real possibility of spending the rest of your days in that place. Staying there with people who would only understand you so far, and never any farther. At moments like that, books, and the life we had planned for ourselves in Oregon . . . they all seemed very important. You remember, Johnny! We talked it over so many times! We’d build a real house for ourselves at last. We’d set up the press and maybe begin a little newspaper. We’d bring words into a raw place! Words soften the rough edges of things. They make people more human.’’

“I haven’t changed the plan, Meg. I might do it with a little more aplomb, is all.’’

She looked down into his dark eyes, onto the outline of his face. “Are you sure?’’

Anger spread over that face. An anger she was unused to seeing.

“Can’t you understand? I’m not sure of
anything
anymore!’’

He hardly heard her return, it was so low, so halting.

“Not even us?’’

Johnny’s anger faded. “You’re trying me badly, but I think I’ll keep you for another little while.’’

Maggie knew his last words had been in jest. She lay back in the dark, watching her husband sleep, satisfied for the moment.

The Chandler party laid over at Independence Rock for the Fourth of July. The massive outcrop of granite had risen ahead of them for days, giving them strength to move forward. The Platte was behind, the Sweet Water River by the Rock sorely needed. Camp was organized between the Rock’s base and the river before noon, freeing the livestock to roam toward the water

The women immediately set in to their washing, Fourth of July or not. The men, however, set about celebrating. Jarboe, Smith and Simpson had chipped in for a jug of white lighting at Laramie. Now they unplugged it and too generously offered it around. By mid-afternoon most of the men and older boys were feeling uproarious. They were shooting at targets for wagers, setting up wrestling matches, and otherwise letting off steam. Even Johnny, who’d rarely before touched the stuff, had succumbed.

He sauntered over to his white-top~already decorated with Charlotte’s drying linens~in search of further ammunition. His step was jauntier than usual, and a silly grin was plastered on his face.

Maggie stared. Thanks to Bridger, Johnny was full of himself these days. And Chandler was still feeling the slight of not entertaining the great mountain man at his own fire. It was an understandable position. As elected leader of the group Chandler would expect some benefits. But the hatchet ought to be buried before it grew into something larger.

Johnny rooted around in his open wagon, making Maggie wonder what he would be up to next. When her husband went after the little barrel of pine tar and hog fat used to grease the wagon axles she figured she knew.

“Are you going to add your name to the Rock, Johnny?’’

“Why not? Jamie’s been pestering me. He wants to find a spot close to Fremont’s own name. Why don’t you bring the baby and come along with us?’’

“Someone’s got to do the work, Johnny.’’

He looked at her, his eyes glazed from his unusual imbibing, his fingers twitching with the need to find more and better excuses for adventure.

“You’ve done enough. Ease up, woman. Charley’ll have a clean bottom for another week. A little more dirt won’t hurt the rest of us.’’