Evan Hunter: The Chisholms: A novel of the journey West

Not because of Mary’s River, which he didn’t think had been named after the Virgin Mother, but only because the names and the distances tumbled one after the other like all the sons of Jacob and Leah: fifty miles to the Truckee, and then across the Forty-Mile Desert, through Dog Valley, Bear Valley, Emigrant Gap, the Sacramento Valley, Sutter’s Fort... ah, there was the end of it, praise the Lord. But here they went at it again, this time naming the Indians they might meet along the way, Sioux and Snake in the desert beyond Big Sandy, hostile Bannocks beyond Fort Hall, Shoshones on the way to Mary’s River, Paiutes beyond that, and afterward only the devil knew what!

It was Gideon alone planning to go at first, and then Schwarzenbacher told them all (as if they didn’t know it was coming to pass anyway) that he and Bonnie Sue would be getting married and moving west, and then Bobbo mentioned that he might go along, too. By the second week in March, they were all four of them reciting the route and the distances on each segment, and the names of the Indians, and Hadley said to Minerva he wished to hell they’d hurry up and get going .

“No, you don’t,” she told him.

In the woods, the snow began to melt. Patches of earth appeared, spreading like stains. The ice on the river broke away in chunks that rushed downstream on waters running swift and black and icy cold. In the winter, you could plainly see the cottonwood from which Lester Hackett had been hanged, but the trees around it now were in bright green leaf, and it blended with the rest of the forest, and was invisible.

She walked Hadley down by the river.

She said, “Had, I keep worryin if I done the right thing about the baby’s name. I keep thinkin I’m doing all the wrong things lately. I’m worried to death I maybe hurt Bonnie Sue’s feelings. I tried to explain, but I’m not sure I... Had, I couldn’t let her name the baby Annabel.”

“I think she understood.”

“You think so? She talked it over with Franz... can you get used to callin him that?”

“It’s hard,” Hadley said, and smiled.

“Aye, it is. Franz,” she said, shaking her head. “I think namin the baby for your mother’s a better idea, don’t you?”

“Yes, Min.”

“But I keep thinkin I hurt her feelings. I told her I wouldn’t hurt her for nothin in the world, but I wished she wouldn’t name the child for her sister cause... Hadley, my grief’s still... Had, I can’t think of her yet without wantin to weep.”

They walked silently by the river.

Mallows were growing along the banks, scarlet and pink, purple and white. There were wood sorrels yellow as Eva’s fine hair, hyacinths as blue as her eyes. Birdcalls carried liquidly on the soft new wind.

“I wish they wouldn’t go,” Minerva said. “I have the feeling I’ll never see any of them again.” She turned and looked directly into his eyes. “Had,” she said, “do you think we might go with them?”

“West?” he said, surprised. “West, Min?”

“Aye. I’m thinkin you were maybe right. I’m thinkin that’s where the dream is, west. Are we yet too old to chase it, Had?”

“I sometimes feel a hundred,” he said.

“I know the field’s waitin to be plowed...”

“It is,” he said.

“And I know you’re anxious to start growin things again...”

“I am.”

“But, Hadley, I’d like to go with them. I’d like to move on again.”

“I’m thinkin it’s time myself,” he said, and nodded.

They came now with buffalo robes to barter.

They came by the hundreds, on horseback or on foot, the hills alive with them. They came noisily, entire families of them, villages of them, braves and their painted squaws, young children, old men, stray horses and colts, dogs and puppies, descending to the river on the opposite shore, and then crossing close by the Chisholm cabin, pointing their fingers, turning their heads — the cabin had not been here the year before. Seasoned lodge poles trailed behind the horses, robes stacked high on woven baskets hanging between them. The river was running swiftly and children tumbled from their perches atop pyramids of robes, to be rescued by mothers or aunts or scolding older sisters. Yapping dogs reached the shore on which the Chisholm cabin stood, pissed against trees and shrubs, ran barking down to the water’s edge again to await the rest of the caravan. The Indians buzzed through the woods like a swarm of bees, their sound moving farther and farther away till they emerged — still noisy, but seemingly silent from a distance — upon the plain behind the fort. The tipis went up, lodge poles first, three of them to form a tripod, the others placed in a circle against the supporting triangle, a dozen or more cut fresh in the forest. Buffalo hides were lifted into place over the skeletons, woven mats scattered, fires started, kettles put to boil. Where an hour before there had been an empty plain, there was now a village bustling with life.

Among the Indians who came to trade buffalo robes that spring was a young brave of the Dakota tribe.

He was there at the fort a full three days before he spied the horse. There was a white man’s saddle on it now, but Teetonkah recognized the stallion at once. It belonged to his cousin Otaktay, who had been killed last year during the Moon of Moulting Feathers.

There were several of his nation among the Indians who had camped behind the fort. He went to them now, and invited them to hear him. He talked of a war party. He spoke eloquently and earnestly, and they listened with respect. He told them of what had happened the year before, when he and three others had come across a lone wagon while riding against the Pawnee. He spoke openly and honestly of defeat and disgrace, his cousin and his two close friends slain, three horses captured, he himself managing to escape with both his eyes, though they had tried to pluck them from his head. He had been ridiculed by those in his village, and had thought more than once of taking his own life, so shamed had he been by his failure.

He now wished to regain his lost honor.

He had seen his cousin’s stallion, and also the other horses captured that night. There were more horses besides, three belonging to the white men, a total of six horses to be had. He asked now that these warriors of his nation, though not of his village, assist him in restoring his honor.

They listened solemnly.

There was not a one among them who did not understand his request. All ten agreed to accompany him against the white man, and smoked the pipe to indicate accord.

In the woods, there was the constant drone of insects. It was too hot for the beginning of April. Sister dipped her hand into the water and wet her face and the back of her neck. She had lost sight of Will, who’d been fishing downstream of her just a short while before. An insect bit her arm; she slapped at it. She wished now that she had stayed in the tipi with Catherine. She jiggled her fishing line in the water and glanced lazily at the cabin. Will’s family were at the fort attending church services. She did not understand this. The religion was not their own, but they went every Sunday morning. She shook her head, and dipped more water from the river, and wet her arm where the insect had bit her. When next she looked at the cabin, a trail of black smoke was racing toward the sky. She dropped the fishing line, and jumped to her feet.

Flames were leaping from the window on the side facing the river. An Indian wearing a wolfskin over his shoulder was running toward the enclosure at the back of the cabin. There were six horses inside the split-rail fence there. A second Indian came out of the cabin, carrying a torch in one hand, a clock in the other. Another was behind him, wearing a white man’s coat, and yet another came out with a clay pipe stuck in his mouth. There were four of them then. Sister had counted four, and thought that was all till she realized there were at least a half-dozen more circling the cabin or coming out of it, leaping the fence to rush at the horses from every side. She became suddenly frightened, and was turning to run back toward the fort for help when someone grabbed her from behind, looping his left arm around her throat.