“No you danged well won’t, you little snake in the grass! Think I’d trust you, the sneak that tried to take my girl away?”
“She was never your girl, Duane, she was mine.”
“You just won’t see the facts, will you, not even when they’re staring you in the face. She was never interested in you.”
“She was too! I asked her to marry me!”
“You asked her all right, but did she say yes? No, she never did.”
They argued back and forth and I whispered to Grace:
“Go fetch the colonel. He’s got to be told.”
Off she run and they was so busy shouting at each other through the backs of their heads they never even noticed. Finally Duane says:
“Wait on, the problem’s easy fixed. The boy can do the counting.”
“I’m agreeable,” says Hewley.
“Boy, can you count up to ten?” asks Duane.
“No, I never learned. My brother Cecil never learned neither, but he only had nine fingers on account of he was born with two joined together. If you like I’ll go fetch someone who can count.”
“Don’t you move from there.… Where’s Grace?”
“Gone away to puke,” says I. “She’s awful upset. Why don’t you give it another try tomorrow? Maybe you’ll find someone that can count meantime.”
“I’ll do it myself,” says Duane. “All right by you, brother?”
“I reckon so, but can we drop our arms a minute? Mine’s gone to sleep.”
They lowered their pistols and rubbed their arms awhile then took up position again.
“Hold on,” says I. “It ain’t fair on Hewley if you do the counting, I heard you say it yourself.”
“There ain’t no helping it,” says Duane, “not if you can’t count.”
“It’s all coming back to me now.… Just run through them for me and I’ll remember.”
Duane counted up to ten and says:
“Can you remember that?”
“It’s easy,” says I.
“Well, don’t do it too fast. Keep them spaced our regular. Ready, Hewley?”
“Ready.…”
“Start counting, boy.”
“One … two … three …”
They started off in different directions, lifting their feet and planting them like the colonel’s thoroughbred.
“Four … five …”
Hewley was shaking some, but Duane looks solid as a rock.
“Six … eight …”
They both got confused and missed the step. Hewley practickly fell over, and Duane hollers:
“Six, seven, eight! Say it the same as I told you!”
“I’m real sorry,” says I.
“Well you should be. Now we have to do it again.”
And back they come to start all over from scratch.
“Start counting.”
“One … two … three … four … six …”
This time Hewley sunk to his knees and give a kind of sob, and Duane was fit to be tied.
“What kind of idiot are you, boy! Four, five, six! You got that part right last time.”
“I must of got confused. I’ll do it straight through now.”
“You’d just better. Hewley, get up and come back here.”
Hewley drug himself over and Duane slapped him in the face.
“Quit that blubbering and act like a man for once!”
“I’m sorry …” says Hewley. “I’m ready now.”
“You’re sure you don’t want to admit she’s mine?”
“Never!” bawls Hewley, and throwed his shoulders back.
“It’s your funeral,” says Duane, and they got back to back again.
“If you don’t do it the right way this time, boy, I’m doing it myself.”
“Yessir. It’s clear in my mind now. Are you both ready?”
They was, so I started off again.
“One … two … three … four …”
Both of them look mighty grim and determined now.
“Five … six … seven …”
I seen they truly mean to do it.
“Eight … nine …”
Thinks I, Where’s Grace and the colonel?
“Nine and a half …”
Duane throwed his gun down in disgust and come running at me. I seen the look in his eye and turned tail and hared back toward the train, and just when I cleared the lip of the hollow here comes the colonel and Grace. Duane seen them and slowed to a stop, then Hewley joined him and they both looked like considerable fools, which suited them perfect, I reckon. The colonel give them his specialty, namely a mountain of scornful talk that made both Petersons hang their heads. But he never stopped there, and turned on Grace and called her a heartless, scheming, conniving, mendacious two-faced minx that ought to be on the painful end of a thrashing. Grace took it calm and kind of tossed her curls to show she ain’t frightened, and when he was done we all went back to the wagons for breakfast, but not before the colonel made us promise not to tell any of it for the sake of morale, which he says is important in wagon trains. But I told Jim anyway.
In the late afternoon we came in sight of the Platte River and next to it Fort Kearney, and if it hadn’t of been the only building in sight I reckon I wouldn’t of been impressed. It’s only small and built from wood, and off to one side was Injun tepees by the score, only the Injuns never got excited when we come in sight, just stood looking bored. The colonel had everyone make camp nearby then went along to pay his respects at the fort. Thaddeus got left in charge of the train but there warn’t much he had to do so he mostly sat and smoked, looking west across the plains. I went and joined him and we sat watching the sun slide down across the sky and aim at the horizon. The clouds turned purple and gold, real pretty to see. I could of waited till Gabriel blowed his horn before Thaddeus begun a conversation, so I say:
“You’re awful quiet, Thaddeus. Are you thinking on how far we got to go still?”
“Nope.”
“On how many dangersome Injuns there is ahead of us?”
“Nope.”
“Well maybe you’re thinking on how we’re going to get through the mountains.”
“I reckon not.”
“Gold?”
“Got no use for it.”
“Times gone by?”
“I ain’t sentimental.”
“Then you’re appreciating the sunset.”
“Never noticed it.”
“Well you must be thinking on something, dang it.”
He turned slow and looked at me, and there’s a kind of pain in his eyes and a faraway look, like he never even seen me and was staring across years and miles, gathering them in, the good parts and the bad, and running it all together in his head to make a memory that’s beyond ordinary words, too wide and huge to tell of. Then he raised himself up a little and leaned over to one side and broke wind, the longest I ever had the experience of. When it finally tailed off into nothing he says:
“Been trying to pass that all day. Now, what was you saying?”
But I never felt much like talking after that and drifted off. The fires was lit by now and some of the Injuns come among the train. Poorly looking they was, nothing like them we met on the trail; this bunch was sickly and dirty and drunk. They brung their wives along and I soon seen why. The squaws was all whores that flashed their teeth if they had any left and lifted their skirts to show their scabby knees and laughed loud and bumped into men deliberate by way of introducing theirselfs. I seen the Peterson boys go off into the dark with a couple in tow, so they must of mended the feud between them and forgot all about Grace. They warn’t the only ones that done it neither. Most of the men in the train never had wives or sweethearts along and the squaws must of looked right handsome to them, but I never seen the attraction myself. Soon they was everywhere in the camp, the Injun men waving bottles and babbling and the squaws getting into wagons without no invitation to rustle up customers. It made the McSweens’ outfit look decent and respectabl
e. Mr. Connelly come up to me with his busted arm in a sling and says:
“Did you ever in your born days see the like? It’s Sodom and Gomorrah reborn in the west. Where is the colonel? Why does he allow this kind of disgrace to go on under the noses of Christians? Look at these degenerate heathen scum.… Their bodies are putrid with drink and lust. Man is but a beast. The proof is here before us.…”
Off he stamped to look for more proof, talking to himself and shaking his head. The musical ones in the train dug out their insterments and tuned up and a dance got started, but the handful of white women stayed away on account of the Injun whores. The music was right lively and the Injuns done a dance that had a lot of falling over in it and a heap of screaming and laughing too. I found Jim wandering around seeing the sights and he says:
“Dere be a heaper trouble ’fore too long, Huck. I kin feel it comin’. You bes’ be on de lookout so’s you don’ get mix up in it. I’se goin’ to get me some sleep if’n I can wid all dis blim-blammin’ goin’ on.”
He took himself off under the wagon and rolled up in his blankets and pulled his hat down over his ears to keep out the noise. I warn’t sleepy and the music and hollering was kind of exciting, so I roamed on watching it all. I seen a man punch an Injun that’s asking for money after his wife went in the man’s wagon, but the Injun never seemed to mind the unfairness of it, just tilted his bottle and drug his squaw along to find someone else that’ll play square on the deal. I seen other stuff that’s similar, and got to feeling squeamish and wished I had the same sensibleness as Jim.
Then an Injun girl around twelve or thirteen come running from fire to fire like she’s looking for someone, her Ma and Pa most likely, only she never found them and had a fretful look on her face, which is prettier than the rest on account of she’s too young for drinking and whoring. A man from the train grabbed her by the braids as she went by and says:
“You lost, little girl? Whyn’t you come along with me and I’ll give you a present.”
His friends give a laugh, all of them drunk, and the girl tried to pull away but he never allowed it. He says:
“No, no, you ain’t runnin’ off yet. Come and sit on my knee and sing me an Injun song.”
She started yelling and he still held on, laughing like it’s the best joke in the world to upset her that way. Then a squaw come flying at him with a knife in her hand, only she’s too drunk to use it correct and only give him a little cut on the arm. He hollered and let the girl loose to grab at the cut, then he punched the squaw full in the face, the way I only ever seen men do to each other. She fell down poleaxed and lay in a heap and there was quiet for a second or three, then the cut man says:
“Injun bitch! See what she done!”
“Did you kill her?” asks one of his friends, not real concerned about if he did.
“I should of done. Injun slut.… Lookit this blood!”
They stood around grumbling and cussing and the Injun girl come back with her Pa staggering along behind, drunk as all the rest, and he never understood what it’s all about till he seen his wife on the ground. That sobered him some and he went over and lifted her head, which has got a busted flat nose on it now with blood all over her mouth and chin, and he looked up at the men still stood around watching.
“Well,” says the cut man. “What’re you aimin’ to do about it, Injun?”
What he done was a big surprise to everyone. He started to sob and bawl and his little girl joined in too, and the men got embarrassed and disgusted and walked away. The squaw opened her eyes and the Injun and girl took her away with them, still crying. Mr. Connelly was right; the colonel should of been there.
I went looking for Thaddeus and found him after considerable searching down by the riverbank, just staring across the water.
“Got a bellyache, Thaddeus?” I ask.
“Heartache,” he says after awhile.
“Why so?”
“You’re still awake so you know why. Anyone get killed back there yet?”
“No, but if someone does it’ll be an Injun.”
“Always is,” he says.
“It’s like you told me, Thaddeus. I reckon you warned me what to expect when Injuns take up liquor.”
“They only take up what’s offered ’em,” he says. “I reckon I’m ashamed.”
“What of?”
“Being a white man. Bringing more whites west. It’ll sit on my shoulders till I drop. I want you to make me a promise. I don’t ask promises from no one as a rule, but I want you to make thisn’ for me.”
“What is it?”
“Don’t ever grow up to be a white man,” he says. “Now leave me be. I’m talkin’ with Jed.”
It’s the strangest promise, but I told him yes anyway. It sounded like something important to him. He never spoke again so I left him there talking silent to a dead mountain man. I figured he has words with Jed Frazer whenever he’s got to unburden his mind, the way them with religion talks to God.
Things had gotten quieter in the camp by now and I was glad of it. I wanted to sleep and just forget all I seen, but sleep never come. I lay there beside Jim and worried over all kinds of things, then I heard voices and two sets of boots stopped right by me. I reckernized the colonel’s voice right off, even if it’s a little slurred from drinking.
“All seems quiet,” he says.
“They’ve likely whored their bodies to sleep,” says the other.
“You’re a great cynic, Colonel Tranter, but I’ll allow your table is more than adequate for these far-flung regions.”
So it’s the colonel in charge of the fort that owns the other boots. I can see the yeller stripe on his britches now. He says:
“For that you can thank the Platte and the boats that ply her. We’re totally dependent upon shallow-draft steamers for almost everything, from horseshoes to foodstuffs. And drink, as you’ve discovered.”
They both give a hearty laugh and a lucifer was struck and I smelled cigar smoke. Colonel Tranter goes on:
“We’re expecting a shipment of supplies any day. The steamboats are merely under contract to the army and are always late arriving. I personally believe the government should have its own river fleet instead of relying on private companies. They’re far too unreliable for such work. I’ve papered many a wastebasket in Washington with the idea.”
“I know what you mean,” says Colonel Naismith. “My own experience in the military left me sadder but wiser. Unfortunately civilian life proved equally unrewarding, in both senses of the word, which accounts for my presence here as wagonmaster.”
“How long will you stay?” asks Colonel Tranter.
“We set off the morning after tomorrow. A longer respite is out of the question. I find myself disturbed by these tales of cholera in our wake. How will you handle the following trains if they prove to be infected?”
“By closing the gates. There is no other way. They must simply keep their distance and move on. Our medical supplies will be made available, but contact must be kept to a minimum. I can’t have my troopers stricken by disease.”
“I agree. Well, Colonel, my thanks again for your hospitality, and for the personal escort.”
“Not at all. It is pleasant to stroll beyond the perimeter on occasion. Goodnight to you, sir, and call upon me for any reason while you remain here.”
“I shall. Goodnight, Colonel.”
Both sets of boots went off in different directions and the last thing that come into my head before I slid away to Nod is I’m mighty glad we ain’t got no cholera in our train.
14
Steamboat a-Comin’!—Unwanted Passengers—The Bulldog Bites—A Prisoner in the Fort—A Question of Costume—Prairie Storm
There was plenty of hungover men in the camp next morning and not an Injun to be seen. They all went back around the other side of the fort to their tepees and never come near us. I seen Grace and she says last night was so horrible and vile she hid herself away in the Shaughnessys’ wagon n
ot to see it, only after Mrs. Shaughnessy fell asleep Mr. Shaughnessy tried to climb back into Grace’s part of the wagon and she had to persuade him out again with her boot, so it was nearly Sodom and Gomorrah in there too.
Around midmorning I heard a sound I never counted on hearing way out here on the plains—a steamboat whistle! It blowed a time or three and straightaway folks started running down to the river. The fort’s gates opened and out trooped a bunch of soldiers that went down to the bank too, which is where I already am, busting to see the steamboat. You could see the smoke long before she come around the bend, and when she done it I seen she’s smallish against the Mississippi kind but built the same with three decks and two chimneys, only with two side-paddles not a sternwheel. Everyone that’s waiting give out a cheer and flung their hats in the air, and a sergeant told the soldiers to keep them back and make room for the wagons that come down from the fort to haul the supplies back. There was Injuns there too now and the crowd was hundreds strong, all of them talking loud. The steamboat blowed her whistle without let-up and the sound whipped everyone into exciteration, and when she got closer I can see the name painted on her wheelhouse: Nicobar.
The paddles quit turning and she nudged inshore. The deckhands throwed ropes to them that’s on the bank and the soldiers tied them to iron pegs hammered in the ground seeing there ain’t no trees or wharf to hitch onto. Then they run the gangplank onto the shore and the sergeant went up it.
There was plenty aboard her, passengers by the score that lined up along the deckrails and shouted to the crowd ashore and pointed at the Injuns. The deckhands offloaded the cargo real quick and the soldiers loaded it into the wagons and took it up to the fort then come back for more. The sergeant come ashore again and I heard him say to a corporal that the Nicobar ain’t going back downstream like she usually done, but further up into the headwaters of the Platte. It’s on account of the passengers, the first ones ever on this run, who are all forty-niners on their way west to California.
“The captain’s got to be a fool,” says the corporal. “Don’t he know there ain’t but a spoonful of water left upstream after the thaw?”
“He says they’ll make it to the end before she runs dry. Myself, I disbelieve it. They’ll get halfway up and run onto a sandbar and be stuck there all summer. He’s a pure idiot, but the boat’s his to wreck if he wants. Did you ever see deckhands work so fast? They’re in a godawful rush to shove off.”